


Body

by LaurieRoar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Drag, Drarry, Drug Use, Eating Disorder, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Phobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slam Poetry, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurieRoar/pseuds/LaurieRoar
Summary: Harry is 22, unemployed, and struggling with panic attacks and cibophobia, a fear of food. Ginny keeps him on a short leash and supports him both emotionally and financially as he tries to recover from PTSD. To everyone’s surprise, he reconnects with a transformed Draco Malfoy and begins to seek liberation through gender defiance and slam poetry.





	1. Round One

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who struggles with an anxiety disorder, this story is special to me. I hope you'll excuse the original characters and the slow-moving plot. Please comment, it keeps me inspired.

It was a lunch meat sandwich. Whole grain bread. With butter and mustard, cut in half, and a glass of milk beside it. Underneath was a white ceramic plate, one of the last of its kind; him and Ginny kept breaking them and had opted for bright red plastic ones instead; easier to clean, especially when dropped. But there was something about the aesthetic of the white plate that Harry found made food more appetizing; it created a focal point, like photographs on black paper, even if it was just a simple sandwich.

Before she left for Quidditch practice, Ginny had kissed him on the cheek. _Just promise me you’ll try._ He nodded. He heard the door close and he sat on the couch with the sandwich and the glass of milk in front of him, staring at it. That was thirty minutes ago.

The white plate made food look more appetizing but somehow Harry’s brain couldn’t tell the difference between ceramic and bread. Maybe they were both actually plastic and Ginny was trying to poison him.

He tried to relax his stiff body, taking in slow, deep breaths like Frieda had suggested. _You can do this,_ he whispered to himself. But he felt the nausea roll in and the sensitivity in the back of his throat, that feeling that he was about to gag.

Frustrated, he moved to the kitchen table and worked on the puzzle him and Ginny had started last night, but in these early stages, puzzles never held his attention. He’d put together the border while Ginny had organized the pieces by colour and shape – her usual blindingly organized method, similar to her pillow system in bed – three pillows, each with a specific purpose, a specific pillowcase, a specific place around her body that kept her in a single, unmoving position all night. Similar to the way she organized the dresses in her closet by colour, and her books alphabetically by author then title, and the bathroom cabinet with the toothbrushes always facing to the side, the extra soap and shampoo in a stack, and her tampons neatly packed in a little wooden box in the corner. The kitchen was something else entirely; she kept a food inventory on her computer ‘for meal planning purposes,’ which she weekly vowed to start doing.

Harry bit his nail and walked around the living room, running his finger along the keyboard’s plastic keys, through the dust on top of the TV, across the DVD cases organized alphabetically by genre then title, and finally rested them on the couch as he looked out the window. It was raining. The air pressure sometimes gave him a headache.

He glared at the sandwich, willing it to appetize him, but instead his mouth went dry and his nerves sent a drizzle of misplaced adrenaline trickling down his spine.

_Just promise me you’ll try._

He forced himself to sit down, leaning forward and examining the sandwich with a scrutiny he knew was unnecessary. Frieda had told him not to think about it – to just do it.

_Just do it._

But his hands wouldn’t respond. They sat tensed, one on each knee, palm down, knuckles white, fingers curled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a sandwich. He wished Ginny had made him something else. Soup. Fruit salad. Just the glass of milk. He hadn’t asked her to make him anything at all, but she was worried about him. Sandwich it was. Though he swore he’d told her how difficult bread was for him. It was the texture; spongy but flakey; and it always managed to get a trigger stuck to it – a fuzz, his own black hair, or a long red strand of Ginny’s.

_Stop thinking about hair._

He swallowed the tingling in the back of his throat and finally reached out to pick up half the sandwich. The spongy bread squished underneath his fingers. Were his fingers dirty?

_Just do it._

He took a bite with his eyes closed, and he knew it was pitifully small, but it was the best he could do. The sandwich dropped back on the plate and his back hit the back of the couch, the back of his hand hitting his mouth, eyelids squeezing shut. His molars squished the bread, crushed the meat – ham – tore apart the sinewy part he’d unluckily bitten off – figures – sharp mustard scraped across his unsuspecting taste buds – the wad of mashed up bread and meat and condiments went to the back of his throat and he forced it past the twitching muscles trying to push it back the other way, once then twice until it had definitely gone down his throat, sliding down slowly, his esophagus shivering at the unwanted disturbance.

His stomach accepted it gratefully.

His hand dropped down to his lap and he inhaled slowly, carefully. He tried to praise himself. _Good job, Harry._ It was a tiny feat, but Frieda had told him to celebrate all the little victories just as much as the big ones.

When his eyes opened, the first thing he saw was the sandwich on the table.

Round two.

_It’s just a sandwich._

The whole situation seemed almost comedic, until he wrapped his arms around his starving body and tried to ignore the hunger pains.


	2. Typical

It was the snake this time; his brain always saved the forest for night. Daytime rotated between everything else, and today it was the snake, bursting out of a dead corpse, speaking to him with that strange hissing noise, trying to communicate in a language Harry could no longer understand. Was it something important? Probably not. Frieda had told him he might miss talking to snakes, and that was perfectly fine and understandable. His brain was coping with that in its usual way.

Ginny woke him up with her fingers running through his hair. “Babe?”

He kept his eyes closed until he’d pushed the blood and gore back into dreamland. When he opened them, Ginny was smiling but her eyes looked disappointed. His eyes flickered nervously to the sandwich he’d left on the coffee table without thinking; it was pushed into the furthest corner, a fraction removed from it, digesting in his stomach, maybe travelling through his intestines now. Two bites.

“Did you eat?”

Harry shrugged.

“You did good!” Ginny tried.

Harry changed the subject. “Your mom brought soup. It’s on the stove.”

“Yay! Did she take her puzzle back?”

“Yeah.”

“Dad is so fascinated with those things!”

Ginny disappeared into the kitchen as she spoke and returned with a bowl of soup. He gave her a grateful look when she didn’t ask if he’d had some, or wanted some.

“How was practice?” He asked.

“Good. Barnaby broke his arm on the field. There was this huge gash on his wrist with bone sticking out. Blood was dripping all over the field, and we all gather around him, and he’s like, ‘Healing potion?’ I’m like, go to a fucking healer before you die! So we had to cut it short.”

Harry looked up at the clock on the wall. He’d gotten three hours of sleep. Last night he’d gotten five. He praised himself for the small victory. _Good job, Harry, eight hours._

“Did you just nap while I was gone?”

“Yup.”

“Oh, we have a game this weekend.”

“Okay.”

“The media will want to see my hero boyfriend.”

Harry smiled weakly. She was talking with her mouth full again. It was vegetable soup, with potatoes and possibly some kind of shellfish. He sat up and stared at the floor instead. There was a footprint on the hardwood, barefoot, his own. Evidence he’d forgotten to put on socks again.

“I invited mum and dad and everyone over after the game.”

Harry felt a little shudder of discomfort. “Okay.” He paused. “Everyone?”

“Yeah. I mean, except Bill, but Charlie and Fleur are still visiting. Mum will probably bring supper.”

His stomach sickened at that thought, but he stayed quiet. Surely Ginny had planned for an alternative – maybe he was going to be doing something else. Or he’d just say he already ate.

“It’ll be fine,” Ginny said.

Harry waited for her to continue, but she stayed silent, slurping on her soup.

“The baby will be there!”

“Baby?” Fleur and Charlie’s baby.

“See? You can just hang out with the baby.”

Harry shrugged. He hugged his legs to his chest. Today was Wednesday. Three days from now. “I’ll just tell them I already ate.”

“Well …” Ginny sighed. She sounded frustrated. “It’s just, you’re supposed to try.”

“I know, but ….”

She turned to him and studied him with a furrowed brow. “Just try.”

She was worried, so Harry nodded in reply. Ginny smiled and went back to eating her soup and he went back to staring at his footprint on the floor. His afternoon nap had felt rejuvenating but now he felt exhausted again – his constant state lately. When he looked back at Ginny, she was staring at his barely-touched sandwich, far in the corner of the coffee table.

“You have an appointment tomorrow, right? With Frieda?”

“Yup.”

“You should tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“That it’s, you know …”

“What?”

“Getting worse.”

“It’s not getting worse.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows.

Harry didn’t feel like defending himself. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Good.”

She’d finished her soup and the bowl was on the table now; she traced the spoon around its edge with a high-pitched scraping sound. Harry barely heard it over the screaming in his head.

 * * *

Her fingertips brushed over his lips and dropped down his chin, traced down his neck, over his chest, her hand flattened and her palm pressed against his diaphragm, her exhale shaky as she passed over his belly button, fingertips sliding into his underwear, dipping into the dark hair hidden underneath –

He gently brushed her hand away. “Don’t.”

Her hand returned to his abdomen, fingertips tickling him, trying to tease. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

Her lips brushed his earlobe. Her voice was breathy and deep, near a whisper. “It’ll feel good.” Her hand boldly reached between his legs.

He curled into a ball, little spoon. “Not tonight.”

She was tense, but after a moment she let out a slow sigh and wrapped herself around him, settling down. “Okay.”

When she’d fallen asleep, he moved back to the couch.


	3. Drill

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday.”

“What did you have?”

“A sandwich.”

“The whole sandwich?”

“A few bites.”

Pause. Scribble. “What about before that? When did you eat before that?”

Shift. Squirm. “Erm … Monday. Er, Tuesday I guess.”

“Middle of the night again?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you have?”

“An orange and pumpkin juice. And a chocolate frog. Ginny keeps buying them. She wants to find herself in the Quidditch collection.”

“How did you feel afterwards?”

“Sick. As usual.”

“And?”

Pause. Shift. Squirm. “I … threw up.”

“Naturally, or did you make yourself throw up?”

“Well … I felt like I was going to throw up so I made myself throw up.”

“Did the nausea come with other feelings?”

“Just the usual. Like I’d just drank poison or something. I needed to get it out.”

“How are you feeling about your body?”

“Oh. Erm, fine. I try not to think about it.”

“Why is that?”

“I just feel like I’ve lost a lot of weight. I don’t fit my jeans or anything.”

Pause. Scribble.

“Ginny gave me a belt.”

Pause. Scribble. “How have the nightmares been?”

Shift. Squirm. “The same. Maybe worse.”

“How often?”

“Every night.”

“Once?”

“Once. They wake me up and then I can’t get back to sleep.”

“Have you still been napping lots?”

“Yeah. I usually have different nightmares.”

“About the forest? The graveyard?”

“The forest at night. Everything else during the day.”

Pause. Scribble. “Well, I’d like you to see your healer. You should be taking a calorie supplement to keep your weight up.”

Shift. Squirm. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to.”

“I know it’s difficult, but we need to keep your body healthy. Your healer will prescribe you something high-calorie. Even if you just take a few sips a day, it’ll help.

Shift. Squirm. Nod.


	4. In the Dust

It was beautiful out. The rain puddles from yesterday had already dried up and the sun was hot, but balanced by a cool breeze. Perhaps a bit too cool. Harry was too warm in his jacket, but had to keep it zipped up for when the wind picked up. He leaned his head back against the bench and the sun washed over his face pleasantly.

His phone rang.

“Hey, Ginny … I’m taking a walk in the park … I just left Frieda … it went well … yes, I told her … she gave me more strategies for anxiety. Grounding exercises … it’s for trying to eat, too … she doesn’t want me to take sleeping potions, remember? … I don’t know, you can get to a place where you can’t fall asleep without them … yeah, it is scary … okay … yeah, in an hour … love you, too. Bye.”

He slid his phone back into his pocket and leaned back against the bench, closing his eyes, exhaling heavily. He tried Deep Breathing.

_Inhale – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – exhale – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 – inhale – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – exhale – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 – inhale –_

He opened his eyes. There was a drinking fountain a few yards ahead of him, for joggers mostly, and a little one at the bottom for pets. A tall guy was standing there, filling up an aluminum water bottle. Harry couldn’t see his face, but he seemed familiar. He wore a long black jacket, dark shoes, a grey hat; white-blonde hair stuck out from underneath, longer than Harry remembered, and when the guy turned he saw a streak of blue in his bangs. Blue was uncharacteristic; Harry would’ve thought green. But the blue brought out the colour in his eyes, pushing back the grey and brightening them in a way Harry could only describe as humanizing.

It had been a year since he’d seen him last, during his dad’s trial after the war, when Harry had testified. Harry hadn’t been friendly – he’d told the truth – but grey eyes had looked at him thankfully, as if they wanted to be punished. Sitting on the park bench, arms wrapped around his diminishing waistline, he quickly realized he didn’t want to be seen. He got up and walked down the path, face turned in the opposite direction as he walked past the fountain. He was almost in the clear –

“Harry!”

Harry winced and turned around. “Oh. Hey, Malfoy.” He tried to hide his discomfort but he’d never been a very good actor.

Malfoy backed up a little. Apparently he’d developed an intuitiveness over the past year. Maybe it had started during the war.

Harry had seen him in the Prophet. The shift in reporting had been quite incredible – from the youngest Death Eater, acquitted for his age, to the abused child, victim of a manipulative father, to the controversial activist, fighting for equality.

 

_Roots torn straight out of the ground, burnt and forgotten, the young Mr. Malfoy’s miraculous journey from an easily manipulated child into an admirable egalitarian has shocked the witches and wizards of the world in the most pleasantly surprising way …_

 

Harry had stopped reading about it after that. In a sense, he was thankful that the attention was drawn away from him. Ron, Hermione and Malfoy were all passing milestones in their lives and the media was reporting on that.

There had been one article about him recently. _What ever happened to Harry Potter?_ It quoted Ron in it, defensive and angry, confrontationally arguing that his best friend was taking time for himself after spending his entire childhood saving the Wizarding World from a psychopathic mass murderer. They’d been quite descriptive when referring to Ron’s clenched teeth and red face. He must’ve had a rough day in Auror training.

“It’s been awhile.”

Malfoy had his arms crossed, holding onto his water bottle with his finger through the plastic loop around the rim. He looked like he was out for a run. Harry hadn’t exercised since Quidditch at Hogwarts.

“Yeah.”

“A year, probably.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you?”

“Alright.”

“I hear you and Ginny got engaged.”

Harry grimaced, nervous. “No, we’re just dating. Ron and Hermione got married, maybe that’s who you’re thinking of.”

“Ah. Probably. When was that?”

“Early this year.”

“Right. Good for them. I mean, technically I think marriage is totally dumb and archaic but if that’s the route they wanted to – ” Malfoy stopped in mid-sentence, then looked a little embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“No, I agree with you.”

Harry stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to force himself to look at Malfoy’s face instead of his much less threatening shirt pocket. He tried to remember what Frieda had recommended for social anxiety. Grounding?

_Harry Potter. Twenty-two. Godric Hollow. The park downtown._

“I read a bit about you in the paper.” Harry said.

“Yeah, the _Prophet_ doesn’t have much to report on, I guess.” Malfoy shrugged.

Harry watched him suspiciously, distrusting of his modesty.

Malfoy seemed uncomfortable. Harry wondered if he was regretting approaching him. “So what else are you doing? Where are you working?”

“Oh, erm … I’m not right now.”

“Oh. That’s cool.”

Harry shrugged. He scratched the back of his head and dug his toe into the ground. It was a little wet – he’d been wrong about the sun drying up all the puddles.

“So, erm …”

Harry looked up. Malfoy had shifted, his face fallen from polite excitement into thoughtful sheepishness, looking off to the side as he searched for words.

“Go on,” Harry urged. Ginny was expecting him to be home soon.

Malfoy half-smiled nervously. “I was going to say … we should hang out sometime. It would be nice to talk, you know? About … well.”

Harry felt the distracting weight of dread sink his stomach. As Ginny would say, he didn’t talk. “Yeah, maybe.”

“I mean I understand if you’re not comfortable. Obviously.”

Harry looked away.

Malfoy eyed him with an inquisitive look, trying to figure him out. He reached into his pocket and handed Harry a thin, rectangular ticket. “I’m in this show this weekend. You should come check it out.”

Harry examined the paper.

“That’s a free ticket, which means you have to at least consider.”

It was plain black with white and gold writing.

 

_The Nook Presents_

** _ROYALTY_ **

_A Night of Slam_

 

“What is ‘Royalty’?”

“Who.”

“And what’s ‘slam’?”

Malfoy laughed strangely. “Just … come see. It’s Saturday night.”

“I’ll think about it. Ginny has a game that day.”

“Ah.”

“I better get going, though. I’m supposed to be home soon.” Harry turned to leave, slipping the ticket into his jacket pocket.

“Okay. Well … I’ll see you Saturday.”

Harry made a face. “I said I’d think about it.”

“I know.” Malfoy smirked.

The familiar arrogance was comforting.

 

Harry stepped into the porch with a sigh, his stomach doing flips and turns – anxiety, but he couldn’t figure out why. He hung up his jacket and started taking off his boots. They’d been a great deal – on sale – but a bit too big on his narrow feet, as usual, which meant the laces had to be tied tight enough that they wouldn’t slip off. It took him too long to put them on but even longer to take them off.

Through the door into the living room, he could hear Ginny’s voice. His stomach dropped in dread, thinking she had someone over, but when he strained his ears to hear, he realized that she was on the phone, probably with Mrs. Weasley.

“I’m just worried … I can’t help it … he keeps getting worse.”

His heart sunk.

“I don’t even know how he’s up and moving around. I haven’t seen him eat in months. I had to give him one of my belts because his pants are all too big now … at least ten pounds … you’re right, he didn’t have ten pounds to lose, but he managed it … I don’t know, he doesn’t talk to me … Frieda seemed to be helping at first, but now he’s getting worse …”

Harry set his boots down in their rightful place at the front of Ginny’s line-up, organized by height, and tried to make extra noise as he unlocked the door.

“I have to go, he just got home … I’ll call you later.”

He waited for her to hang up before walking in, painting an oblivious mask on his face. He smiled as warmly as he could manage. She smiled back similarly. He assumed both smiles could have equally been interpreted as grimaces. She was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, their puzzle on the coffee table. Her fingers sifted through a bowl of pieces as though they’d been doing it for hours. She looked completely natural; it made Harry wonder how many times he’d interrupted conversations about himself in the past without noticing.

“How’d it go?”

“Good.”

“How was your walk?”

“Nice.”

He lay down on the couch behind her and ran his fingers through her hair. It was down instead of tied back – a rare occurrence nowadays.

“How was practice?”

“Really good. I’m heading back tonight. Crunch time.” She was working on the blue sky – her favourite part.

She set the box upright on the table to reference the picture. “How many pieces is this one again?”

“Two thousand.”

Harry shuddered and rolled onto his back. “I give up.”

“I’m determined.”

“If you finish that on your own, I’m going to be very impressed.”

“Ooh, collateral.”

Harry found three strands of her hair and started braiding it. She’d straightened it today and it ran smooth through his fingers.

“I swear Dad has hundreds of puzzles at this point. He’s so obsessed. You have no idea what you’ve done. Him and Mum do them together. It’s adorable.”

Harry hummed.

“There’s this one of a little cottage that they were doing yesterday when I went to visit. She said we could borrow it when it’s done. It’s so cute. I want a cottage like that someday. We should get a cottage. Hey? Have a baby in the cottage and get a little dog.”

He reached the end of her hair. It started unraveling itself when he let go and he combed the rest of it out with his fingers.

“Or maybe a big dog. A big dog and a baby and a bunny.”

“A bunny?”

“Yes! I want a bunny.” She glanced back at him and her eyes were soft. “And a baby. Would you want a baby?”

He found another three strands and started braiding again, Dutch style this time.

“I think you’d be a good father.”

She glanced back at him again, the same look in her eyes. He wished she’d stop doing that. One of these times she’d notice he wasn’t giving her the same look back.

She was settled in on the puzzle now, humming contentedly. He reached the end of the braid. When he let go, it stayed in place. His hands fell to his side and his gaze fell to the floor. His footprint was still there, a gentle reminder to avoid wood floors. Ginny must not have noticed it yet or she would’ve wiped it away.

His eyes fell closed. As soon as they did, he felt Ginny looking at him again.

“Tired?”

He opened his eyes. “Kind of.”

“When did you get up this morning?”

“Early.”

“How early?”

“Like, five.”

“Yuck.” She wrinkled her nose. “You didn’t nap?”

“A bit.”

“That’s good.”

She clicked a puzzle piece into place – a dark blue that led into a wisp of cloud. The cloud might make it a bit easier. He didn’t understand why she liked solid colours so much. He’d jokingly told her to do the puzzle flipped around once – just match the shapes to create a big, brown, cardboard square.

“I ran into Malfoy.” He figured he should mention it.

“Draco Malfoy?” Her voice had a sharp edge to it.

“Yeah.”

She looked horrified. “I’m so sorry.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“No?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“He seems different.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, the _Prophet’s_ been talking about it for the past year. Miraculous turn-around. It’s a bunch of bullshit.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“He willingly became a Death Eater. Now he’s trying to play the victim and say he was forced. It’s ridiculous. He needs to accept responsibility for his actions.”

“Yeah.”

She gave him a stern look. “Don’t fall for his bullshit.”

“I’m not.”

She eyed him suspiciously, then went back to her puzzle.

Harry hesitated, but continued despite his own brain’s protests to keep the peace. “He invited me to a show this weekend.”

“What?” Her voice reminded Harry of the gossipy conversations he’d occasionally overheard at Hogwarts – a scandalous, disbelieving tone.

“I guess he’s in it. I don’t really know what it is, he just gave me a ticket and told me to go.”

“That’s weird.” She frowned. “I don’t think you should go. He’s probably planning on tricking you or something.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t planning on going. It’s the same night your parents are coming over, anyway. It was just a little strange.”

“You’re not saying you’d go if you weren’t doing anything, are you?”

“No, like I said, I just found it strange. It seemed like he wanted to hang out.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Me neither.”

“Good.”

Harry closed his eyes again, unsure why he felt annoyed.

* * *

“Just try sleeping with me tonight?”

“I sleep better in the living room, Ginny.”

“Do you?”

“Well … I don’t want to wake you up.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I just … feel safer there.”

“What do you mean ‘safer’?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just try.”

“Okay.”

When she’d fallen asleep, he moved back to the couch.


	5. Ex-Golden Boy

It was a treacle tart. Ginny had left it on the counter on a little dessert plate with a note. She knew it was his favourite.

 

_Num nums for your tum tums!_

_Love you,_

_Ginny_

 

He stared at it on the counter for a while, nerves eating at his empty stomach. He avoided it all morning. He worked on the puzzle, started reading a book, took a walk around the block, breathing in the cool air. But his mind kept snapping to the image of that treacle tart, sitting untouched on the dessert plate beside Ginny’s note.

He didn’t touch it.

* * *

“So … did you eat today?”

He didn’t answer, focused on picking the dirt out from under his nails.

“You didn’t?”

His hands fell to his lap. He avoided eye contact. “Erm … I had …”

She waited for an answer but he trailed off and stayed silent. Her arms crossed, she bit her lip and stared at the floor, shoulders tense.

“I just …” She sighed.

A long moment passed. He bit his nail.

“You must be starving.”

He wrapped his arms around his stomach subconsciously. The gnawing hunger pains poked and prodded him from the inside, threatening to break him down slowly.

“I’m fine.”

* * *

“Wear this hat. It’s cute.”

“Okay.”

“And … just keep your jacket zipped up. They shouldn’t be able to tell.”

“Okay.”

She eyed him nervously. “It should be fine.”

He nodded, dazed. “Yeah.”

* * *

The bleacher was cold underneath him, slightly damp from last night’s rain. He kept his arms crossed, his jacket zipped up all the way, his scarf tied loosely around his neck, the soft wool touching his chin. Hermione was pressed up beside him. She grabbed the pompom on top of his hat and tugged teasingly.

“Your hat is cute!”

“Thanks.”

She turned and leaned on Ron’s shoulder, squeezing his hand.

“There’s Ginny!” Ron pointed.

It took all of his willpower not to duck behind Hermione when Ginny flew onto the pitch and the announcer immediately pointed him out – 

_– the loving boyfriend, who most will recognize -_

– and cameras started snapping in his face, photographing his well-practiced painted-on Proud Boyfriend look while the panic stirred in his chest, his eyes losing focus, the rational side of his brain reminding him that of course the air passing into his lungs had enough oxygen and he definitely was not about to suffocate. Ron and Hermione were pointed out as well. Then they were left alone. He wondered if Ginny had bribed someone to keep it short. Though his face would likely be all over _The Prophet_ tomorrow. Hopefully the cute hat and zipped-up jacket would ensure the articles were mostly positive.

* * *

How had he done it in school? His brain was hypersensitive amidst the giant crowd. The screams and jeers of fans sent sharp jolts of pain far up his ear canals. The speeding of players in too-bright colours rushing back and forth across the field made his head spin and his stomach flip with dizziness. The people jumping and shoving around him collapsed his body into a tight statue. He felt like a flattened cardboard box, already passed through the compactor, taking up as little space as possible.

Sensory overload.

In Hogwarts, it had been exhilarating – the excitement of cheering for his favourite team – anyone but Slytherin – the sense of community that erupted around him, the feeling of being a part of something. And playing was something entirely different – the wind, the adrenaline, the roar of the crowd.

It had been fun then, and now he felt like smushed cardboard. The thought of it made his stomach hurt. He tried to focus on the game but his nauseous stomach was too distracting. By the end, he couldn’t get off the bleachers fast enough and it took him several long moments to realize that Ginny’s team had won.

* * *

Baby fingernails made his heart hurt. They were minuscule compared to his own, even smaller compared to Charlie’s. Adorable, but sharp, like kitten claws. They’d given her a little scratch on her nose, right by her eye. Charlie said it happened in the night, and she’d screamed like a banshee.

“Here, you can hold her.”

Harry held the little body gingerly, consciously cradling her head in the crook of his arm. Her skin wasn’t wrinkled anymore and he could tell she looked like Charlie, especially her nose. A Weasley with blonde hair.

“Oh, look at his face.” Mrs. Weasley ruffled Harry’s hair as she walked by, making him grimace nervously.

Charlie nudged him. “I bet George you’re next.”

“Isn’t Ron the more likely option?”

“You’d think so, but he’s terrified of babies. Have you seen him around Alice?”

Harry hadn’t thought about it.

“I’m pretty sure you and Ginny can get married and have a baby in the time it’ll take Ron to grow up and be ready to have kids.”

Harry hesitated, then shrugged. “Maybe Ron just doesn’t want kids.”

“Everyone wants kids, eventually.”

He looked down at the baby. She suddenly didn’t look so cute.

* * *

Ron was looking at him strangely

“So how have you been doing?”

Harry shrugged, subconsciously wrapping his arms around his stomach. “Alright.”

His face looked suspicious, but Harry could tell he was worried. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“Yeah.” He felt his face turn sad and fixed it right away. “I’ve just been spending all my time with Ginny.”

Ron shrugged. “Mum says that’s what happens. Drifting apart.”

“Yeah.” His voice was quieter than usual. He reminded himself to speak up.

“I miss you though. Hermione does, too. I mean, we love each other, but sometimes it feels like we’re missing Number Three, you know?”

Harry smiled. “Yeah.”

“We should go for dr – … butterbeer. Sometime soon.”

He winced. “That’d be nice.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

* * *

“Hermione, you look so good with that baby.”

“What? Me?”

Ron went pale. “Mum, don’t give her ideas.”

“Ideas? Like more grand-babies?”

George nudged Ron, throwing a meaningful glance at Charlie. “Well, you’re not going to get any from Ginny anytime soon.”

Charlie looked hurt. “What’s wrong with the one I gave you?”

“Oh, nothing! She’s perfect! We just want more, is all!”

“She doesn’t have red hair, that’s what’s wrong.” Hermione laughed. “They want to populate the world with more redheads. They’re trying to start an army.”

Ginny nudged Harry. He unclenched his hands, watching the blood rush back into his knuckles. She whispered in his ear, “You’re okay. Eat.”

It was roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, on one of the red plastic plates. It used to be one of his favourites. Mrs. Weasley knew that. The fact that she had been thinking of him when planning what to bring made him feel that much guiltier for staring at it with such disdain. He was avoiding eye contact with everyone, but especially her. He was embarrassed. How much did she know?

“It’s delicious, Mum.” Ron said. Everyone nodded and piped up in agreement.

Mr. Weasley put on his ‘Dad Joke’ face. “Where’s my thanks? After I slaved all day in the kitchen!”

“Ah yes, that’s right, your father made it.” Everyone laughed. Harry smiled a second too late.

“I went all the way to the store to get the butter your mother forgot to pick up.”

“Yes, thank you, dear.”

“Butter is pretty important.”

“Ron, don’t encourage him!”

“Then don’t encourage Hermione!”

Harry forced the panic to stay low down in his stomach. If it raised up to his chest, he might lose control. His breathing was slow and intentional. Ginny tensed beside him. He felt his own muscles tense in response.

Ron caught his eye. He looked at Harry’s untouched plate with a confused look. The panic shot up – he noticed – he was going to say something – then everyone would notice.

He whispered to Ginny, “I’m sorry,” and got up, disappearing into the hallway, making his way to the porch. He heard Ginny coming after him and his pace quickened, hoping he could get out of the house before she caught up with him.

No such luck. She grabbed his arm to stop him. “What?”

“I can’t.” He crossed his arms, eyes flickering toward the dining room, the panic bubbling in his chest. “I can’t.”

“You have to try.” She tried to be encouraging.

“I did.” He shrugged. “I can’t.”

Ginny sighed. “Stop saying that to yourself. It’s just my family. You’re fine.”

Harry didn’t answer. He wracked his brain for an excuse. Ginny was right. He was supposed to be trying. He was never supposed to leave when he felt panicked. But the thought of losing control in front of her family made the adrenaline kick in – fight or flight.

“Just come sit down again.”

“I need a minute.”

She paused, watching him for what seemed like ages. “Okay. Go for a walk. Get some fresh air. Then come try again.”

Relief. “Okay.”

She combed her hair with her fingers. “I’ll just … tell them you forgot to do something. I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay.”

She squeezed his hand, her expression worried, but underneath, he could tell she was annoyed. That suspicion was reinforced when she dropped his hand a little too eagerly, turning around to join her family again.

He disappeared into the porch to put on his boots, slipping his jacket on and zipping it up all the way, wondering if it would be cold outside. It wasn’t too bad. A block away from home, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He tried Deep Breathing.

_Inhale – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – exhale – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 – inhale – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – exhale – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 – inhale –_

He wondered what Ginny would tell everyone. Maybe she’d say he wasn’t feeling well. Or he forgot his phone somewhere and needed to find it. Or he’d gotten a text from a friend and needed to pick them up somewhere. Ron would probably be suspicious. Hermione definitely would. But Ginny had learned to be good at making excuses. She’d learned from Harry.

The wind grazed against him, a little chilly. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, and his fist hit up against something – paper. He pulled out the ticket Malfoy had given him; he’d forgotten it was there. It was a bit crumpled from being in his pocket, fine white lines running through it like wrinkled skin. His walk slowed until finally he stopped, examining it curiously. He checked his watch. The show started fifteen minutes ago. If he apparated there, he could check it out for a bit, settle his curiosity, and then head back home, preferably when he was sure dinner would be over. Maybe Ginny’s family would even be gone. She’d be mad. But that seemed better than the alternative.

Harry felt guilty for doing it, but he quickly made up his mind and apparated away before he could change it again.


	6. Royalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've never heard/watched slam poetry, I suggest checking it out before reading this chapter. This is my favourite one:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aL9afE5pOro

The Nook turned out to be a pub downtown - a small, narrow building hidden between a high-end clothes store and a place that sold used cauldrons. When he saw the doorman, he realized he didn’t have his ID with him. Anxiety stirred as he patted down his pockets, looking for his wallet.

“Here for the show?” He was a skinny guy in a grey t-shirt with short brown hair. Harry usually found doormen intimidating, but his voice was gentle, lowered to a whisper.

Harry smiled nervously. “Yeah. One of the performers gave me a ticket, but I forgot my ID.” He handed him the ticket, trying to keep his hand steady. Social anxiety.

_Harry Potter. Twenty-two. Godric Hollow. The Nook Pub._

He took the ticket, but his eyes stayed focused on Harry’s face, probably recognizing him. “Who gave you a ticket?”

“Erm … Draco Malfoy.”

The doorman looked surprised. “What’s your name?”

“Harry.”

“Thought so.” He ripped the ticket and handed Harry back the stub, a strange smile on his face. “First time here?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I happen to know you’re of age. They’ll probably ID you if you try to get a drink, though.”

“I’m just here to see the show.”

The doorman shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just be quiet heading in. It’s already started.”

Harry gave him a grateful smile and slipped past him into the pub.

It was styled as though the owners hadn’t renovated in decades, with dark wooden floors, brick walls, and old posters hanging in wood frames. A fireplace was burning in the centre of one wall, couches surrounding it, and a bar across from that, tall stools pushed up against it. At the far end of the room, past the round cherry-coloured tables and chairs, was a stage. It was simple - just a raised black platform with a microphone in the centre, the brick wall plain behind it. A woman was standing in front of the microphone speaking passionately; the audience was scattered throughout the tables but concentrated in front of the stage, everyone silently focused on her. Was it poetry? Harry felt uncomfortable looking for a seat, though nobody seemed to notice him as he sat down by himself at the bar. He was just beginning to settle down enough to focus on her words when she stopped and the audience cheered as she stepped off the stage, joining a few people at a table. Another woman took the stage, though when she stepped into the light, Harry felt bad for assuming her gender. Her hair was long and blonde and too shiny to be real, not to mention it’s contrast to her thick, dark beard. She wore a light-coloured dress and painful-looking heels that easily brought her height past six feet, and the makeup on her face looked like it had taken hours to apply.

“Wasn’t she incredible?”

The audience clapped again.

“Every time she comes on stage I feel the loose hold I have on my confidence slowly giving way.”

Laughter. Harry smiled a second too late.

“Anyway, up next we have another familiar face. Almost as familiar as mine! If you don’t know him from The Nook, you’ll know him from the papers. Give it up for our favourite ex-Death Eater, Draco Malfoy!”

Malfoy stepped onstage, leaving a group of people at a table in the corner. The audience cheered loudly. The blue in his hair contrasted darkly with the blonde under the harsh spotlight.

“Hi, everyone.” He hesitated. “So, I was going to do a new poem. But I’d like to do an old one instead. I’m sure many of you have heard it already so I’m sorry for the repetition, but when you’re feeling it, you just have to go for it, you know?”

The audience became a wave of snapping fingers. Harry faintly remembered that that was common for poetry readings. Perhaps he’d seen it on a movie or a TV show as a kid.

“This poem is entitled ‘Nihilist Blinders.’ It’s about privilege, and it’s terrible. I’m not going to lie. This was literally the first poem I ever wrote, so don’t judge me. Here it goes.”

He stepped back and looked down at the floor, took a breath, steadying himself. In a moment, he approached the mic again with a changed posture and addressed his audience with a vulnerable confidence.

_I’m surrounded with these bodies whose minds are obsessed with them._

_Whose minds can see nothing but the aesthetic._

_If we all embraced the inevitability of the Void, it would all matter much less._

– laughter –

_Is it because nihilism is too depressing?_

_Is it because it’s easier to pretend that we’ll all forever be defined by our weight, our careers, our blood?_

_Is it because we’re not ready to face that horrifying realization that our parents don’t know everything?_

_Is it because we’re just blind to it?_

– pause –

_There are a lot of things I’m blind to._

_Like, for example, everyone has their own unique smell._

_I’ve been told mine smells like old, creaky hardwood floors, regret, and repetitive thoughts._

_Which really just means ‘anxiety.’_

_But I can’t smell it._

_How can I smell something that I’ve never not smelled?_

– snaps –

_I like to think my blinders have been loosened._

_That they’re no longer nailed directly into my brain, halting my consciousness from seeing what’s beside or behind the road directly ahead of me._

_When something starts creeping into my vision, I no longer walk faster._

_Because I like to think that goes against human nature._

_But so does looking into the inevitability of the Void._

– pause –

_Sometimes I look into the Void and wish I could be defined by my weight, or my career, or my blood._

_Blood is perhaps the most accurate to the truth._

_It’s red. It’s not good when it’s outside you. It has plasma. It’s the same in everyone. It’s made up of the same stuff as dinosaurs and plants and rocks._

_And yet blood is the most misunderstood._

_As if my blood is better because it runs through my veins, veins that exist not because of my ‘pure’ ancestors, but because of a near impossible event that happened billions of years ago._

_Billions of years. We are nothing to this world._

_And we are nothing to each other._

_We’re not better, we’re not worse. We’re the same._

_I don’t need to smell myself, because I’ve smelled you._

_And here it is._

_My parents don’t know everything._

* * *

Harry hung back when the show had finished. Malfoy had snuck through a side door afterwards with a group of people, but Harry figured he should wait for him and say something, though he wasn’t sure what. He sat with his arms crossed, forcing himself not to cover his ears when the music started, offensively loud like a club despite the pub environment. A group of guys were sitting at a table, looking over at him strangely. He turned away, wishing he had Malfoy’s cell number.

“Harry?”

The voice was loud and unfamiliar. Harry turned around nervously and found himself facing the show’s host. “Yeah,” he answered, a bit too late. Offbeat. Her eyelashes had sequins on them and her chest was covered in glitter. One of the sequins had fallen into her beard. It reflected the light like a tiny disco ball.

“I thought so. I’m Tia.” She shook his hand awkwardly, shouting over the music. “How’d you like it?”

“It was great.”

“What?” She leaned into him.

He spoke up. “It was great. I’ve never been to anything like this.”

Tia laughed. It was a loud, short guffaw. “Didn’t freak you out?”

Harry smiled nervously. “Of course not. Malfoy invited me. I didn’t know he did this.”

She looked like she hadn’t caught everything he said. “Draco invited you?”

“Yeah.”

She glanced towards the stage, thinking. “Why don’t you come backstage? I bet he’ll want to see you.”

He nodded, thankful he didn’t have to wait by himself anymore. Tia took him by the hand and led him through the crowd to the door Malfoy had slipped through. It was labelled ‘Employees Only.’ Once the door had shut behind them, the music muffled and Harry felt a weight leave his shoulders. Loud things made him anxious. Though Tia surprisingly put him at ease. Her presence was calm and non-threatening.

“You ever done drag?” She asked.

“Oh, erm, no.”

She looked back at him, amused, and examined his face. “Too bad. You have gorgeous bone structure.”

He smiled awkwardly. “Er … thanks.”

“He’s probably in here.” She stopped at a closed door. Harry could hear a crowd inside, talking and cheering, like a party. She guided him forward with a hand on his lower back.

Malfoy was the first thing he saw when Tia opened the door. Him and several people Harry didn’t know were gathered around a table, pouring shots of tequila and talking loudly. He watched Malfoy down a shot before spotting Harry; his face warmed up into a smile and he jumped up to meet him as Tia pushed him inside.

“Monsieur Malfoy, you have a visitor! A cute one.”

Harry smiled, embarrassed.

“I knew you’d come!” Malfoy was smirking, but his eyes were gentle. “What’d you think of the show?”

“It was great. You were really good.”

“Stunning, as always.” Tia pinched Malfoy’s cheek. Malfoy shoved her hand away and gave her an unconvincing glare.

“You were great, too.” Harry said.

Tia grinned. “Why thanks, gorgeous.” He leaned in towards Malfoy and spoke in a stage whisper. “He yours?”

Malfoy laughed. “Oh, no. He has a girlfriend.”

Tia made a disappointed face. “Ah, too bad. He should still stay for the after-party though.”

“Definitely.”

Suddenly, Harry wondered what time it was. “I should get home.”

“Oh, just one drink!” Tia encouraged.

Malfoy smiled at him. “One drink.”

“I don’t know.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, nervous. He’d seen enough muggle movies to know what ‘one drink’ meant.

“We can catch up.” Malfoy paused. “I can give you a formal apology for … everything.”

Harry hesitated, surprised. He thought about the _Prophet_ articles, and what Ginny had said. It would be nice to know who was right.

“Okay. Just one drink.”

* * *

“I’m quite proud of the name. It’s kind of a muggle reference. Atlantis. The Lost City. You know? I’m The Lost Woman.”

Harry and Malfoy had found a spot on a couch in the corner of the room. Malfoy had mixed Harry a rum and coke and poured himself a glass of wine. He was lounging on the sofa, spread out and comfortable. Harry was a compacted box again, taking up as little space as possible. He was anxious.

“That is a muggle reference.” Harry was suspicious.

“I learned about it in Muggle Studies in my final year. You should’ve seen the look on my father’s face when I told him I was taking Muggle Studies. Hilarious. But it kind of just stuck with me. I thought it was interesting. And when it came to a drag name, I thought it suited me.”

“I can’t imagine you doing drag.”

Malfoy laughed. “I wouldn’t say I do drag. It was just a few nights. And I never performed. Just dressed up. Makeup can be exceptionally liberating. And it's hard not to get into it here. The Nook puts on so many drag shows.”

All of the strangers were scattered throughout the room, most of them concentrated around a table in the centre, playing Beer Pong. They erupted into laughter, making Harry jump. He hoped Malfoy hadn’t noticed.

“Hey … is it okay if I call you Harry?”

Harry hesitated, surprised, unsure what his angle was. But his face seemed genuine. “Well … yeah. That’s okay.” He circled his glass on the table. “Should I call you Draco, then?”

“I’d prefer that, yeah. I don’t really go by Malfoy anymore. Even my first name is a little iffy. I usually just go by Drey.”

“Why’s that?”

“‘Malfoy’ isn’t really a name that garners much positive attention anymore.” He smiled like it was a joke, but Harry could see the sadness in his eyes.

“Did it ever?” He regretted the words as soon as he said them, not wanting to start an argument.

Draco shrugged. “Yes and no. Anyway, my dad doesn’t like me using it anymore. He’s under the impression that I’m going through a phase and he doesn’t want me to tarnish the family name.”

“Right.” Harry took another sip of his drink. Draco’s was almost gone, and he watched as he poured some more wine into his glass with a devilish look. “So … when did you start doing poetry?”

“After I graduated.” He leaned back on the couch again with his full glass, nestling down. “I was bored.” He hesitated, watching Harry, looking curious – Harry held his breath – then continued. “I decided to go to university, which my dad supported at first, but then I started taking a lot of humanities classes and my outlook started changing. I started thinking for myself. Obviously he didn’t like that. He stopped funding me.” He shrugged. “So I got a job here, bartending. It was hilarious. I’d never worked a day in my life. I still had to take out a loan, but I managed to work my way through the rest of my undergrad.”

“Congrats.” Should he have abbreviated? He shouldn’t have abbreviated.

Malfoy didn’t seem to care. “Thanks. I loved it. I learned a lot. Well, un-learned, really. I mean, I’m not perfect, but I think I’ve come a long way.” He shrugged. “Anyway, this place puts on a lot of slam poetry events, which is how I got into it.”

Harry nodded. He could see a sadness in Draco’s eyes and it was making his stomach hurt. It reminded him of something Ginny had said about him. _It’s like you’re wearing armour on everything but your eyes._ Draco didn’t seem to be wearing armour, though. He had a strange gentleness to him, something like a malleability in the way he’d sit so close, watching Harry closely, gauging his reactions and his words, actually _looking_ at him instead of judging him like he’d done in school. He was vulnerable. Intentionally.

“Then I met Tia, who got me into drag. That helped with some of the un-learning.”

“How so?”

“Well … my father was really strict when it came to my gender. Not just where he wouldn’t let me play with dolls or wear pink or whatever. He was really adamant about making sure I did masculine things. Like play Quidditch. Date girls. Not feel. You know?” He snickered.

Harry nodded knowingly.

“Doing drag just completely throws all of that away. It’s like saying ‘fuck you’ to gender roles and … reclaiming your own self, you know? A self where you don’t have to fit into a box, where you can be masculine or feminine or both or neither and it’s fine. It’s more than fine – everyone is cheering you on, loving it.” The sadness left his eyes as he spoke, but returned again as he continued. “It’s hard to explain. But … it just made me realize that I wasn’t what I was supposed to be. I wasn’t the perfect, masculine, ‘pureblood’,” he mimed quotation marks in the air, “cookie-cutter man that I was supposed to be. Which is fine. Better, I think. I’ve come to realize I’d rather not be that.”

Harry nodded again.

“How’s your drink?”

He looked down at his near-full glass. “It’s delicious.” He clarified. “I’m just taking it slow.”

Draco nodded. “Lightweight?”

Harry blushed.

“That’s okay.”

He’d been expecting an insult.

“You can get drunk, you know. You’re safe here.”

Harry suddenly felt the weight of his phone in his pocket, and made the conscious decision to ignore it, taking a longer drink from his glass.

* * *

“Ever done a body shot?”

Harry shook his head.

“Lie down.”

Draco lifted Harry onto the table, grabbing his legs and swinging him around to lay him flat. He poured himself a shot and passed Harry a lime segment.

“Hold this by your face.”

Harry held it up by his face, confused and a little shaken. Hagrid was the last person to pick him up. He pushed that thought out of his mind.

“Can I lift this up?” He gripped the hem of Harry’s shirt. Harry jerked away, anxious. He lifted it himself, just below his ribs, figuring that would be okay. Then he felt the tickle of salt being poured into the vertical dip on his abdomen.

“I’m confused.”

“I lick it.”

Harry laughed nervously.

“Good?”

He nodded hesitantly.

Draco gave him a sly smile and downed the shot. Harry shivered at the feel of Draco’s smooth tongue on his abdomen, tasting the salt and whatever Harry tasted like, then he grabbed the lime from Harry’s hand and sucked on it. Harry clutched his stomach. Draco’s face was unchanged; he was used to the taste of alcohol.

“I’m ticklish!”

“I’m supposed to grab the lime out of your mouth, with my mouth, but you have a girlfriend.”

“Thanks for taking my relationship status into consideration.”

“Of course.”

* * *

“It’s desperately needed.”

“I bet.”

“Have you heard about it?”

“A little. Ginny mentioned it.”

“Right. Basically I was trying to make it considered child abuse. It’s brainwashing, essentially. Teaching your kids that purebloods are better, that they’re better than everyone. All of that crap I was raised on. But that route wasn’t working, and it proved to be very difficult to put into a bill without being problematic. So we’re developing a curriculum for a mandatory class in schools, which focuses on things like privilege and entitlement.”

“That’s a really good idea.”

“I was thinking the Hogwarts class could incorporate misconceptions about houses – maybe use Severus as an example for Slytherins – just to make it a less toxic environment, maybe encourage the houses to interact more, especially with Slytherin students.”

“You should talk to Hermione. I bet she’d be really interested in this.”

“Yeah, I wanted to, but I felt like it’d be an unwelcome conversation. I was going to get someone else on my team to try.”

“I could mention it to her.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I bet she’d be really into this. Have you thought about putting rights of magical creatures in the class, too?”

“A bit, but we haven’t looked too far into it. It’d be interesting to talk about house elves. That would’ve benefited me a lot as a kid.”

* * *

“It was this privilege exercise that did it for me. There was a group of us, quite a diversity – different genders, different sexualities, different ethnicities, different levels of ability and disability, all that. And we all started on the same line. Then the workshop leader started saying these statements, ‘privilege statements.’ Like, ‘step back if you’ve ever felt unsafe because of your sexual orientation,’ or ‘step back if you’ve felt uncomfortable about a joke directed at your gender,’ or ‘step forward if you had more than fifty books in your house growing up.’ You know what I mean? And slowly, we all started drifting away from each other. People who society oppresses more ended up at the back and people with more privileges ended up at the front. And even with my sexuality, I was right at the front, maybe one person a little in front of me. And that was eye-opening. But what really got me was when I realized that I was facing forward, which meant I couldn’t see the people behind me. And that’s what privilege is. Being blind to how the world actually functions for everyone in it. Having the privilege to be blind to it all. That's when I wrote that poem.”

* * *

Harry felt the air rushing past him, the ceiling pleasantly close to his head, his feet on the soft springy cushion of the couch; his legs were sore, but he kept jumping.

“And then! You go on this crappy ship to try to find Monkey Island! But your crew is lazy so they won’t help you! So you have to explore the ship by yourself! And you get to make a potion with breath mints and a rubber chicken and cereal and ink and a T-shirt and then you drink it and pass out and you wake up and you have to shoot yourself out of a canon to get to the island where there are these people who - ”

Draco was practically rolling on the ground. “I’m still laughing at the guy’s name.”

“Monkey Island? Guybrush Threepwood? LeChuck? Fester Shinetop?”

“Guybrush Threepwood.”

“It’s so much fun. You should play it. We should play it together.”

“Is this why you don’t do pot?”

Harry jumped extra high. “It makes me real hyper!”

* * *

The world had slowed down. He breathed in the smoke from the burning leaves and exhaled all his energy, head lolling over the edge of the couch.

“Its name is Shelob,” he whispered to Draco. All he could focus on was the blonde hair standing up in all directions – actually, hanging down, forced there by gravity, the blue streak like a running tap, or the water fountain in the park.

“What?”

“The hairs.”

“Why?”

“Because they look like spider legs. Giant spider legs.”

“So?”

“It’s a Lord of the Rings reference.”

“Is that a muggle thing?”

Harry’s eyes shifted. He’d forgotten who he was talking to. “Yes.”

“Huh.”

Harry thought deeply about the hairs. What did they mean? Why were they there? “Wanna see?”

“Sure.”

He lifted up his shirt, past his ribs and up to his neck. The two long hairs sprouted out from a single follicle by his nipple. They’d been there since he was a kid. He’d hoped it meant he was going to get lots of body hair but those were the only dark hairs visible on his smooth chest.

Draco giggled. “It looks like antennae.”

Harry giggled. “Yeah, it does.”

“You should call it Bug.”

He’d called it Shelob forever, but Bug sounded like such a better idea. “Okay!”

Draco reached out. “I want to touch it.”

Harry squealed and pulled his shirt all the way down, making Draco jump back in surprise. “It’s ticklish,” he whispered.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’ve never heard you make that sound.”

“I’ve never heard me make that sound.”

* * *

“Away from me rum, ye scurvy cur!”

Harry reached out into the darkness, feeling around for Draco’s body. He felt the rum bottle by his foot and heard a clank as it fell over; he cursed under his breath.

“Arr! ’Tis mine, ye filthy scoundrel!”

Harry reached out in the direction of Draco’s voice and his hands collided with the warm skin of his chest. When had his shirt come off?

“No! You got me!”

He felt Draco’s hands around his arms, felt the vibrations in Draco’s chest as he giggled happily.

“You still have to share the rum.”

Harry laughed, then frowned. “Fine.”

That annoying ringtone sounded again. Harry groaned and asked Draco to make it stop, but Draco was pulling him against his chest. Harry’s cheek pressed against his pectoral and the warmth made him melt, but the ringing kept going and Harry groaned again.

“Make it stop!”

“What is it?”

“It’s …” He paused when he realized what it was. “Oh, it’s my phone.” He reached up to take off the blindfold. The room seemed too bright when it came off. Draco was watching him with a dazed look, his hands still clutching his arms. They were alone – when had everyone left? “Where’s my phone?”

Draco looked around half-heartedly. While Harry was digging in the couch, following the source of the noise, Draco grabbed the rum and let out a contented sigh of triumph. “I got it!”

“You have to share!”

“I’ll share. A little.”

His phone stopped ringing as soon as he found it. “Why do I have so many missed calls?” He unlocked it and felt his stomach drop. “Holy fuck, it’s four o’clock in the morning?”

“Woah!”

Harry felt himself sober up fast. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself. “Oh fuck. Oh shit. I have to get home. Fuck, Ginny’s been calling me.” Harry stood up and started gathering his things as fast as he could, shoving things into his pocket – three pocket check – phone, wallet, keys – he started putting on his jacket.

“Woah, wait, okay, calm down.” Draco helped a struggling Harry into his jacket. “It’s fine. You were just having fun and forgot to call. Not a big deal. They’re probably just worried.”

“You … you don’t understand.”

Draco’s face changed slightly, taking in Harry’s distress. “Is it a big deal?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s get you home, then.”

Harry hugged his body, trying to prepare himself for arriving home while simultaneously trying not to think about arriving home. “Not really.” He smelled his jacket. “Do I smell like pot?”

Draco smelled him. “Probably. I can’t tell.”

He exhaled into his hand and smelled his breath. “Do I smell like alcohol?”

Draco shrugged. “Probably.”

Harry sunk and hugged himself again. Draco looked confused. “I’m not … I’m not supposed to be drinking or doing drugs or anything.”

“Shit. That’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not your fault. It’s mine.” Harry took a few deep breaths. His arms were shaking but he tried to ignore that. “I have to go.”

“Okay.” Draco paused. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Harry answered softly. He rushed outside and apparated home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, please comment. :)


	7. Day One

Harry took off his boots as quietly as possible, straining his ears to hear inside. The lights were on. He could hear the TV.

His boots clunked when he sat them down, making him wince.

“Did you hear that?” He heard Ginny’s voice coming from inside, then saw her shadow approach. He took a breath and tried to steady his shaking hands.

She flung the door open with tear-filled eyes. Her arms raised like she was about to hug him, then dropped to her side when she took in a breath. Her body froze, staring at his guilty face, voice deep and slow. “Where the hell were you?”

“Erm …” He took off his jacket, stalling. Ron appeared behind her, looking worried and tired, but as soon as he saw Harry, his face changed to something like disapproval. Times like these he looked like his Mum.

Harry crossed his arms, chilly in the cool porch, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be welcome inside. Ron seemed to notice. He pulled Ginny out of the way gently so Harry could step inside, closing the door behind them.

“Well?” Ginny said aggressively.

He felt his shoulders tense, defensive. “I … decided to check out Malfoy’s show.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Malfoy?”

“I ran into him the other day. He gave me a ticket.”

“And?” Ginny demanded.

Harry felt himself shrink pathetically. His heart sunk, eyes flickering to Ron, embarrassed. “I stayed for the after-party.”

“Why?”

“Erm … I wasn’t going to stay long. Just for a drink. He wanted to talk. Well, apologize, mostly.” His hands were fiddling with his sweater. He stopped when he noticed.

Ron looked overtly confused. “Draco Malfoy? You were having drinks with Draco Malfoy?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s voice was too soft and he scolded himself for not remembering to raise it.

“You said he had a show. What was the show?” Harry hoped the annoyance in Ron’s voice had more to do with a lack of sleep than actual anger.

“It was poetry.”

Ron’s eyebrow raised. “Malfoy does poetry?”

Ginny looked like she was about to explode. “Can we focus here? I don’t give a shit if Malfoy sings opera or dresses up as a woman and walks the damn streets at night. We’re talking about you.” She threw the words at him like they were threats.

Harry’s eyes flickered to Ron.

“You’re supposed to be sober.”

“I know.” His hands were fiddling with his sweater again but he didn’t stop when he noticed.

“What were you thinking?”

Harry looked at the floor. “I don’t know.” His footprint was still there.

Ginny had a hand on her hip, and the other ran through her hair in frustration. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She turned to Ron. “Well, I guess now that we know he’s not dead, you can go home.”

Ron ignored Harry’s pleading look. “Yeah, okay.”

Ginny went and collapsed on the couch. “All this worrying and it turns out he just doesn’t know how to use a fucking cellphone.”

Ron was watching her with a concerned look, but she was staring at Harry.

“Or read a clock.”

Ron was putting on his jacket, sighing heavily. “Alright?” He asked Ginny.

“Peachy!”

He gave her a sympathetic look, then went to the porch, closing the door behind him. Harry could hear him putting on his shoes. He tried not to think about the way he’d ignored him, though it was almost a nice distraction from Ginny’s glare. She waited until Ron was gone, or at least that’s what Harry thought she was going to do. He heard the faint sound of Ron apparating away outside and braced himself, but Ginny just stared, breathing heavily, face held in a snarl.

Finally, she glared at him, raising her eyebrows. “Go to bed.”

Relief. “Well … I can sleep on the couch.” He offered.

“Nope. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Are you sure?”

Her voice raised threateningly. “Yes, I’m fucking sure. Go to bed, Harry.”

He winced and hesitated before turning to leave, thinking he’d better skip having a shower and just curl up in bed. It might be nice sleeping on the mattress for once. But Ginny’s voice made him stop. He should’ve known that was too easy. She wouldn’t let him off the hook like that, even if she was exhausted, which she must have been, especially after Quidditch.

“I just can’t fucking believe you’d do this.”

He turned around, crossing his arms, hugging himself. “I’m sorry.”

“I was so fucking worried that that’s what you were doing.” She was shaking her head, eyes narrowed to slits, the anger radiating off of her. “I thought you were done with this shit. You were fucking sober.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, obviously you weren’t.”

He was staring at the floor, but he could feel her eyes burning holes in his body.

“Look at me.” She demanded.

He looked up, trying to ignore that _feeling_ , like he was a small child being scolded, reminding himself that he deserved this.

“What did you do? Did you do it?”

“No. We just drank and smoked.”

“Smoked what?”

He shrugged. “Pot.”

“Oh Jesus fuck.”

She stood up and started storming around the living room, aggressively cleaning up, messily folding the blanket on the couch and throwing it on the chair, picking up a few glasses and bringing them to the kitchen, dropping them into the sink with a crash that should’ve broken them. When she came back, she saw that footprint on the floor. With a dramatic sigh, she used her sock to scrub it away.

“Six months.” She muttered. “I guess we’re starting at zero.”

Harry felt his stomach drop. “I didn’t do it, Ginny.”

Ginny scoffed, almost falling off balance as she scrubbed with her foot. “What, you think pot and alcohol don’t count against sobriety? Six months since your last drink.”

“It wasn’t like that.” He tried.

She stopped what she was doing and faced him, her aggressive stance making him take a step back. “You can’t be doing that. We agreed. You agreed. We all fucking agreed that you were not going to do any of this shit anymore.”

“I …” He trailed off, not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he didn’t want Ginny to hear that his voice was shaking.

“Don’t. I don’t want to hear your fucking excuses. I should’ve known. You haven’t eaten fucking anything lately, and you’ve been sleeping all the fucking time …”

He took a breath, steadying himself, trying to find confidence. “Ginny, I did not relapse.”

“Are you kidding? You just stayed out until – what time is it – four-thirty in the morning! Without telling anyone where you were, when we were supposed to be celebrating my win, come home fucking reeking of booze and smoke, just like before. I don’t care if you didn’t do your drug. You broke your promise. And you ruined this day for me.”

Harry nodded, looking at the floor again. He wanted to press, to explain to her why it was different, why it wasn’t like before. But his stomach had already sunk so far that he was feeling the threat of tears in the back of his throat and a part of him figured he was wrong anyway. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Ginny scoffed again, still fuming. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t fucking get it. You can drink whatever the hell you want but you can’t even eat a fucking sandwich.”

Harry shrunk. He felt his eyes filling with tears and the automatic response was to narrow them, crossing his arms. He glared. But she wasn’t looking. She shoved past him, pushing him off balance, and disappeared into the bedroom. When she came back, she threw a pillow at him. He caught it.

“You might as well sleep on the couch. It’s where you spend all your time anyway.”

She slammed the door to the bedroom. Harry stared after her, unsure how to feel, how to react, hugging the pillow, refusing to let the tears fall down his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, please comment, it keeps me going.


	8. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Descriptive panic attack.

Harry woke up to a text from Ron.

_Butterbeer?_

He felt the nerves stir in his stomach but the desire to spend time with Ron and Hermione made them settle a bit – a rare occurrence.

_Okay. When?_

_An hour?_

Harry folded up the blanket and set it on the chair. He wondered where he should put the pillow, but ended up leaving it in the corner of the couch, for now. Then he peaked around the corner into the hallway. The door to the bedroom was closed. He tiptoed past it to the bathroom and let out a breath when the door was locked. The shower was loud but it didn't usually wake Ginny up. As the water ran down his chest, he wondered if it would be worth sneaking into the bedroom for a change of clothes. He shouldn't go out smelling like pot. It would stir up conversation about last night, and he had an illogical hope in the back of his mind that they would just pretend that hadn't happened, maybe even talk like old times.

 * * *

He dried himself off slowly, facing away from the mirror, not looking at his body. He put yesterday’s clothes back on to sneak into the bedroom, opening the door as quietly as he could. Ginny was still sleeping, curled on her side facing the wall. He held his breath as he crossed to the closet.

“I know you’re in here.”

He didn’t answer, opening the door less carefully.

“What are you doing?”

“Erm … just getting some new clothes.”

“Why?”

He prayed she wouldn’t be mad. “I’m going to meet Ron and Hermione.”

“Oh, I’m guessing you remembered how to work your phone, then.”

Harry stayed quiet. He picked up a random shirt and pair of jeans and slipped back into the hallway as quickly as he could without looking suspicious. In the bathroom, he changed fast, pushing out of his mind the brief flash of his bare chest in the mirror.

When he opened the door, Ginny was in the hallway.

“I’ll come with you.” Her voice was neutral.

He hesitated. He hated when he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Regardless, he didn’t want to risk another fight. “Well … okay. I’ll text Ron.”

She crossed her arms and followed him to the living room, watching him pick up his phone and send the message. He waited for another comment about his lost cellphone knowledge but it never came. She just watched him.

_Alright if Ginny comes?_

The ellipses appeared at the bottom of their messages, hovering there for ages.

_Sure._

Harry looked up at Ginny and tried to smile. She rolled her eyes and walked past him to the kitchen. He heard the clinking of dishes and then she came back with a bowl of cereal, which she set on the coffee table to eat. He felt his body tense, waiting for her to say something. But they just sat in silence. An apology sat on the tip of his tongue but the anxious pressure on his chest reminded him it wasn’t worth the risk.

* * *

Ron looked annoyed. Hermione was holding his hand, squeezing it a bit too tightly. He squeezed back. She squeezed again. Harry wondered if they’d created a secret hand squeezing language and were having a conversation.

“So, how’s training going, Ron?” Ginny asked. She was sitting beside Harry but her body was turned slightly away from him. She sounded almost normal, but Harry could hear the edge to it.

Ron shrugged. “It’s good. Hard. But good.” His eyes flickered to Harry, who was still trying to decipher the hand squeezing language. He wondered if they’d teach it to him.

“How’s Quidditch going?” Hermione asked.

“Great. Really great. I love it.” Her voice was flat.

“That’s good.”

They fell back into the silence, that awkward silence that had hung heavily over them since Harry had sat down. He could tell Ron wanted to talk about last night – the elephant in the room – but wouldn’t bring it up in front of Ginny. He guessed she could sense that.

“I have to use the washroom.” Ginny sat up and left for the restrooms, her fingertips grazing Harry’s shoulder, the pressure a little too heavy to be loving.

When she was gone, the silence lingered, but only for a moment. Ron leaned forward and stared at Harry with a frustrated expression. “Well?”

He was confrontational. Harry shrugged and felt his face fall into that horrible, miserable look that always made everyone worry. He tried to fix it but it stayed put. Hermione and Ron both waited for him to answer. “I don’t have an excuse.” He admitted.

Ron looked annoyed. “I don’t want to see my sister go through this shit again.”

“She’s not … I’m not relapsing.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you said last time you were relapsing.”

Harry shrunk, staring at the table, avoiding eye contact. He should’ve been expecting ‘protective brother’ Ron. He’d raised his hopes too much, thinking he’d get to see his best friend. But he’d learned a long time ago that Ron couldn’t be both. He had to switch between the two, constantly deciding who to put first today – Harry or Ginny. Usually it was Ginny.

He felt Hermione’s hand on his forearm, squeezing gently. Maybe it wasn’t a hand squeezing language. Maybe it was just a method of comfort they’d come up with. “Harry, be honest. Are you relapsing?”

“No.”

“Are you in danger of relapsing?”

He risked looking up at her. She looked concerned, eyes searching, and he found himself subconsciously leaning towards her, yearning for someone to be on his side. “I didn’t do it.”

She glanced at Ron. Ron looked skeptical.

“It was different.” He added.

“Why?”

He felt himself softening. Hermione always sought to try to understand, always gave him the benefit of the doubt. “I wasn’t drinking because I was depressed. I was just having fun and got carried away in the moment.”

Her thumb was rubbing his forearm gently. She glanced at Ron. “Still. None of that stuff has really done you any good.”

“Yeah.” He risked a glance at Ron. He was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, the picture of cynicism. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“You’re not going to do it again?” Hermione asked.

“No.”

“Do you promise?”

He hesitated. “Yeah.”

Ron scoffed. “Heard that one before.”

“Hush.” Hermione glared at him, reaching out to hold Harry’s hand. Harry tried to slow his breathing, keeping it even, trying to soak in the affection while holding back the tears.

_Inhale – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – exhale – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 – inhale – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – exhale – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 – inhale –_

“My sister’s coming back.” Ron announced.

Harry expected Hermione to let go of his hand, but she held on. He gave her a grateful glance, managing a half-smile.

Ginny sat down and crossed her arms, mimicking Ron’s position. Definitely siblings. The air that seeped off of them was intimidating, making Harry’s body shrink again – compacted cardboard.

Ginny was staring at Hermione’s hand. She looked at Harry. “Am I interrupting something?”

He shook his head.

Ron leaned forward on the table with a sigh. “We were just talking about Hermione’s classes.”

Hermione nodded. “I only have one more year. Ron and I keep joking that we’re going to get hired by the Ministry in the same week.”

“Good. You both can fuck shit up from the inside.”

“Yeah.” Hermione smiled at her.

“They keep saying they need the right people.” Ron caught Harry’s eye, but he looked more resentful than encouraging. Harry dropped his gaze to the table.

“They’ll definitely hire you two, then.” He tried. There was a moment of silence, then the conversation continued, almost as if he’d imagined it. His eyes were glued to Hermione’s hand resting in his, her thumb gently moving back and forth like a steady pendulum. If he focused on that, the anxiety didn’t feel quite as overwhelming.

“Here you are!” A server appeared beside them, her voice too loud in Harry’s ear, carrying a plate of nachos with green chips and red peppers. She sat it down on the table and Harry felt a wave of nausea rush over him. Ginny tensed beside him, sensing his reaction.

Ron and Hermione started eating, Hermione inviting them to help themselves. Harry gripped his butterbeer in his hands, trying to concentrate on the warmth of the mug instead of the fear bubbling up in his stomach. This couldn’t happen here, not in front of his friends, not in the middle of a crowded pub.

But the lights were too bright and the sounds were too loud and his hands wrapped around his mug suddenly looked so far away, like they belonged in someone else’s memory.

“Are you okay?” Hermione was looking at him with a concerned look, always more aware of Harry’s facial expressions than he wished anyone would ever be.

Harry covered his mouth. The nausea settled in a moment but he got up to go to the bathroom anyway, just in case, reluctantly letting go of Hermione’s hand as he did.

“Harry – ”

“Don’t. He’s probably just hungover.” Ron said.

The washrooms were tucked in a small hallway, hidden from the pub’s sight. He was almost in the men’s but he felt Ginny grab his arm and pull him back. When he turned around, he bit his lip, then hit himself – Ginny knew that meant he was about to cry.

At least it cooled her temper a bit. She took both his hands. “Relax.”

Harry exhaled.

“Are you going to be sick?”

Harry didn’t hear her at first. He was walking in a cloud, the noises hitting his ears simultaneously too loud and too muffled. When he understood what she said, he tried to answer. “Yeah. No. No.” His voice sounded far off and dazed, even to himself.

Ginny looked concerned. “Breathe.”

He took a few deep breaths. Ginny’s hands felt stronger than usual. He looked down to figure out why and realized his own hands were trembling. She gripped them tight, trying to hold them still, and it looked so odd, like he was watching a film.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m … fine.”

She paused. “Let’s go sit down then.”

Harry shook his head. “No.” His voice sounded panicked in his head. He hoped Ginny hadn’t caught onto it.

She let out a heavy exhale, and when she spoke, her voice was annoyed. “You can’t keep avoiding it, Harry. Exposure therapy, right? Like Frieda said. You need to just sit through it.”

“I know.” He nodded, trying to stay in control, but time kept speeding up.

“Seriously, let’s just go back. Sit down. Breathe. You’ll be fine.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. I need a minute.”

“Harry.”

“It’s hard, Ginny.”

She let out another exasperated sigh. She lowered her voice but sharpened its edges. Harry felt the blades. “It’s not hard, just come sit down with me.”

“You don’t understand.”

She tried to regain her composure. “Okay. I get that it’s hard, but you have to push through it.”

He was sweating, his palms turning moist, his back and his hairline prickling, and the wetness sent a cold shiver down his spine. He was losing the fight with his breathing – it picked up despite his attempts at keeping it even. “I need to go outside.”

He tried to move past her, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “No, you don’t. Come sit down. Remember what Frieda said. Just sit through it and you’ll be fine.”

“It’s not that simple, Ginny.”

“It is. Come on.”

Harry felt the pressure of her hand on his back, trying to push him out of the hallway and back to their table. A wave of panic dropped down his body, sinking his organs to the ground. He tried to regain control. “Ginny, this is not helping.”

“Breathe through it.”

He tried Deep Breathing but he couldn’t control his lungs enough to keep it slow.

_Inhale – 2 – 3 – exhale – 3 – 2 – inhale – 2 – 3 – exhale – 3 – 2 – inhale –_

He covered his mouth when the terror came, that adrenaline ice bath that maximized his senses, made the thoughts and the images flash in his brain like an electric storm, made his body feel like it wasn’t his, like his mind was floating away from it, completely out of control. He forgot what logic was. Logic would’ve told him that he was safe, he wasn’t in danger, everything was fine. Instead, the panic rose him up and took control.

Ginny had let go of him. She was watching him, her eyes scared. She never knew how to react when this happened. “Is … is it happening?”

Harry kept his mouth covered and tried to steady his breathing through his nose. When her voice registered, he nodded.

“Erm …” She looked around the hallway, then back to him almost apologetically. She reached out to touch him and he backed away automatically. He wished she’d left him alone.

Her voice was uncertain. “Let’s go sit down.”

He pushed past her, feeling her hand grip his arm but shaking her off. He let his hands drop to his side as he moved through the pub and left, trying to look normal, thankful Ron and Hermione had chosen a spot in the corner, far away from his path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, comment, comment! :) <3


	9. Blend

“What’s going on?

“I – I’m – I’m sorry – I’m – ”

“What happened?”

“I – nothing – I didn’t want to go home and I couldn’t stay with Ginny.”

Draco was leaning down to hear him, his hand on Harry’s shoulder. He looked confused and concerned, trying to assess what was happening. Harry realized he probably looked terrified. He'd apparated here without thinking. That was dangerous.

Draco looked back at the door behind him. Tia was watching them, confused. She’d taken Draco out of a meeting, it seemed. Harry felt guilty, then embarrassed, and the shame fed his panic. It spread through his body and changed his molecules so that he felt like a different person in a different world, hovering above himself, watching but unable to regain control.

“Come on.” Draco grabbed his shoulders and led him backstage to the room they’d partied in last night, sitting down with him on the couch.

“Fuck. Is this real? I can’t tell if this is real.” Harry put a hand to his chest. His heart was racing. The room around him looked foreign, like a different planet. “My heart is beating really fast.”

Draco inched closer to him. “Because you’re hyperventilating.”

Harry had his hands over his mouth. He tried to still his trembling body. He desperately wanted to run away so that Draco wouldn’t see him breaking down but the thought of being alone made him unable to move. His heart wasn’t slowing down. He was probably going to have a heart attack. “I can’t breathe.”

“You’re breathing just fine. It’s a panic attack.”

Harry felt the tears start. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep them under control. What had Frieda recommended for panic attacks? Deep Breathing?

_Inhale – 2 – 3 – exhale – 3 – 2 – inhale – 2 – 3 – exhale – 3 – 2 – inhale –_

That wasn’t working – grounding?

_Harry Potter. Twenty-two. Godric Hollow._ Where was he? The Nook. He'd apparated to The Nook. He was safe. That was the important part. And he was sitting safely on a couch. Nothing around him was going to harm him. His head tried to reason with his body but the panic persisted.

He felt Draco’s arm sling over his shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was low and close. “It’ll be over soon, okay? Ten minutes max. And then you’ll be back to normal.”

Harry gave up trying to control the tears and let them pour out of his eyes like water faucets. “I’m – sorry.” He gasped.

“It’s fine. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Okay.”

He pressed his cheek against Draco’s chest, letting his body soak up the warmth. He tried to bring himself back into his body. He still felt like he was floating. Both Draco’s arms were wrapped around him now, a hand rubbing his bicep gently. “You’re okay.”

He sobbed against Draco’s chest.

“You’re doing great.”

“I’m so scared.”

“I know. I’ve got you.”

He didn’t want to analyze the fact that Draco Malfoy was comforting him.

* * *

“I’ll be right back.”

Harry felt Draco leave his side. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying not to imagine what his face looked like.

Draco sat down beside him again, holding a water bottle and a granola bar. The sight triggered a wave of nausea and Harry shook his head, once again fighting the threat of tears.

“What’s up?”

“I’m starving.”

Draco poked him with the granola bar.

Harry rubbed his arm subconsciously. “No. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Harry shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t fucking know. I can’t eat.”

Draco paused. “At all?”

“At all.”

“For how long?”

“I’m not sure.” He thought about it but stopped himself when the memories started reaching too far back, to places he didn’t want to remember. “Years ago. And then got worse and worse and now I’m this.”

“Have you talked to a doctor or a counsellor or anything?”

“Yeah, I have a counsellor.” His voice sounded bitter. He tried to fix it.

“Ginny knows?”

The bitterness stayed put. “Yeah, Ginny knows.”

“Okay.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Embarrassment had settled in Harry’s chest and it was all he could think of now that the panic had gone. He avoided looking at Draco, worried about what he’d see. He saw Draco’s hand in the corner of his vision set the granola bar on the coffee table in front of him.

“Well, it’s here if you want to try. No pressure, okay?”

It was a simple granola bar, wrapped in silver packaging with navy blue writing. “Chocolate chip,” it said. He used to get granola bars in his lunch kit in elementary school, the ones that were covered in chocolate with a thin layer of caramel, but Dudley would always steal them. Hermione had brought them along on their hunt for horcruxes as well – a healthier kind, chewy and filled with nuts and seeds. This one was simple. Chocolate chip. He reached out to pick it up, examining it carefully. He made a little tear in the wrapper and brought it down an inch. The granola was yellowish and white with little dark flecks of chocolate. At least he didn’t have to touch it, which meant it was clean. No visible triggers on it. He took a little bite.

As soon as it touched his tongue, he regretted it. He forced himself to chew it, his jaw reluctantly moving to crush the strange texture, the little granola flakes breaking off like the part of popcorn that gets stuck in your teeth. His throat contracted when he tried to swallow so that he had to do it twice, forcing it down his esophagus, swallowing a few more times to get the taste out of his mouth.

His stomach accepted it gratefully.

He set the granola bar back on the table and shook his head at himself, wishing Malfoy wasn’t here to see him fail.

“Why do you look so upset?”

“I can’t do it.”

“What are you talking about? You just did.”

Harry risked looking at him. He had a smile on his face and his eyes looked genuine. He looked proud, like Ginny in the beginning.

“Baby steps.”

Harry nodded, maintaining eye contact.

“I’m proud of you.”

Draco held his gaze. He looked concerned, but his eyes weren’t full of pity like Harry had expected. They looked more empathetic, more compassionate, like he actually cared. Harry wondered what his own eyes looked like. The thought made him look away immediately. He crossed his arms, shivering a bit. His legs felt numb from the adrenaline of his panic attack.

“Tia’s right. You do have good bone structure.”

“She told you that?”

Draco laughed. “Yeah, she did.” He glanced over at the makeup table in the corner. “Want to learn how to do your drag makeup?”

Harry laughed uncomfortably. “I don’t think I’d be very good at that.”

“It takes practice. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes!”

Harry looked at him, examining him suspiciously. “Is this some kind of evil master plan to get pictures of me dressed up as a girl to share with the _Prophet?_ ”

Draco laughed incredulously. “No, but that is something I would’ve done in Hogwarts, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded.

“I’ll do mine, too. You can meet Atlantis.” He nudged him playfully. “I told you. Makeup can be very liberating.”

Harry hesitated, then nodded. “Okay, fine.”

Draco jumped up excitedly and pulled Harry to the makeup table, setting him down in front of it. He sifted through the bottles and tubes like a child through new presents on Christmas. “Okay. First off, remember this order – primer, foundation, concealer, contour, blush, highlighter, ble-e-e-end, powder.”

“I’m lost.”

“Okay, just remember ‘ble-e-e-end.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments motivate me to write more which means faster updates *hint hint*


	10. Violet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: A little bit of Harry/Ginny smut that's very much not hot at all.

Harry held his hands flat on his knees. Frieda said he was supposed to stay with the anxiety, let it run its course, and eventually it would stop turning into panic. He just had to remember that his body was overreacting. He was perfectly fine. He just really hated confrontation.

“How do you think she’ll react?”

He shrugged. He gripped the hem of the skirt Draco had lent him. It was short and silver and sparkly and he was wearing black tights underneath to cover his dark leg hair. He couldn’t walk in heels, so he was wearing his boots, which went surprisingly well with the rest of the outfit. He’d stolen Draco’s shirt – a white button-up – to wear, and Tia had lent him a long, wavy wig with short bangs. Overall, he felt like he was about to do a school-girl role play in a porno. Though Draco had gone a bit more gothic with his makeup. He pulled down his sun visor to look in the mirror. They’d both laughed at how beautiful he’d turned out. His features were already soft, but the contouring completely transformed any maleness on his face. His lips were orange and twice their usual size, his eyes framed by long, fake lashes, the purple and black liners and shadows making the green sparkle in a way usually hidden by his glasses. Draco said he ‘passed’.

Draco himself almost did, save for his broad shoulders and muscular arms. This was the first time Harry had felt fine with his small body – a time when he was trying to look feminine, to give up all of the masculinity that had benefited him in the war but he knew now was toxic, something that made him feel worse when he thought about his illness. Draco was wearing a short blonde wig and an outfit that showed the tattoos on his arms. The Death Eater tattoo had turned into a burn, and he’d hidden it with tattoo sleeves, turning the evil snake into a dragon. It was symbolic, he’d said, of his reclamation of his life and his body after the war.

Draco was eyeing him curiously from the driver’s seat. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” He wasn’t sure if what had happened between him and Ginny qualified as a fight, but he was pretty sure she was going to be mad. “Hey, will you … will you come in with me?” He asked sheepishly, embarrassed. If someone else was with him, she’d probably stay more calm.

“Yeah, sure.”

Harry felt his shoulders relax a little. “Thanks.”

* * *

Ginny was lying on the couch with the remote in her hand, watching TV. He couldn’t see her face but he knew she was pissed, her shoulders tense, ignoring the noise. Nervousness crept into him and he wished he was dressed normally, though maybe the shock would help her simmer down.

“Ginny?” He prompted quietly.

“Cool, you decided to come home.”

He glanced at Draco, who had risen an eyebrow at Ginny’s coldness. Harry avoided her tone. “How was your night?”

“Fine.”

Draco hesitated. “Hi, Ginny.”

She spun around upon hearing his voice, shock flashing in her eyes, and she froze when she spotted them both in drag. Harry risked a grin at her expression.

“Woah.” Her face was unreadable shock. “Woah. Harry?”

He nodded excitedly, hoping this had extinguished the anger.

“What the fuck. You look like a girl.” Her tone was confused and mocking.

His shoulders sunk a bit. “I know.”

“She is a girl.” Draco said.

“Right, I am a girl.”

“Harry, you’re … beautiful.” Ginny said, but it didn’t sound like a compliment.

“Thanks!”

Draco nudged him. “Stop responding to the name ‘Harry’!”

“Oh, right!” He hesitated, trying to remember his drag name. “That’s not my name.”

“Er, okay. Harriet?”

Harry grabbed a strand of long hair and smoothed it out. His palms were sweaty. “Violet Black.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Okay, Violet. You seriously look like a girl.”

“She is a girl.”

“I am a girl!”

“She’s also a damn good singer. Did you know that?”

Harry turned red and shushed Draco with a horrified look.

“I did. He’s a shower singer.”

“She.” Draco corrected.

“Whatever.”

The shock had left her face and now she just looked disapproving and weirded out. Harry started feeling very self-conscious. He shrugged. “We were just having fun.”

“Well that’s nice that you were having fun while I was sitting here wondering where the hell you were.”

He crossed his arms, uncomfortable. He wished she wouldn’t do this in front of other people. A few moments of deafening silence passed. Now he felt bad for asking Draco to come inside with him.

“Anyway, Atlantis was just dropping me off.”

“Atlantis,” Ginny repeated mockingly.

Draco nodded with a smile, unfazed. “Yeah, I’d better get going.” He touched Harry’s shoulder to get his attention and eyed him apologetically. “Alright?”

Harry nodded.

“Okay.”

Harry rubbed his eye, the eyelashes suddenly feeling very heavy. “I might have to borrow your makeup remover, Ginny.”

“Stop rubbing your beautiful eyelashes.”

“Sorry.”

“Okay, I’m going.” Draco stepped into the porch, catching Harry’s eye with a concerned look. He didn’t want to leave him.

“I’m fine,” Harry reassured him. “I’ll see you.”

Draco smiled and nodded. He closed the door behind him.

Harry pulled off one of his eyelashes.

“Ew!”

“Sorry. I’m going to go take this off.” He left for the bathroom, feeling like he was taking cover. Something about the past few days had reminded him of being with his aunt and uncle – having to dodge them when he came home, avoiding them as if he’d done something wrong. Except nowadays he was doing things wrong – he kept doing things wrong. He pulled off his other eyelash guiltily and stared at himself in the mirror. His thin body stared back, covered and painted but still much smaller than he remembered, like he was growing backwards. He liked the way the wig felt, the feel of the long strands on his cheeks. He looked incredible. Looking at the image in the mirror, he would never be able to tell he’d consumed nothing but a bite of granola bar and too many shots of rum for the past twenty-four hours, and the thought made him feel dysphoric - a disassociation between the body he lived in and the body he saw. How odd was it that he could feel this sick, this sad, this overwhelmed, and have his body look not just completely normal, but great? He unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his chest. As he brought it down further, the dysphoria eased. He could see his ribs. Though it usually made him feel disgusted and frustrated, he found comfort in it now. It was evidence that he was sick – physical evidence. Proof.

He heard a soft knock on the door. “Harry?” Ginny’s voice was gentle and high.

He buttoned his shirt up quickly. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need help with the makeup?”

He hesitated, warming up to the softness in her voice. “Sure.” He unlocked the door and she opened it slowly. Her expression was unreadable, as usual, but there was no anger in her eyes, so Harry relaxed.

“Here, sit on the tub.”

Harry sat down as Ginny grabbed a washcloth and wet it. She held his chin and wiped the contouring off his face.

“I can barely recognize you.”

Harry smiled nervously. “It was fun.”

“Yeah?”

“I had no idea makeup was so complicated. It’s like a painting on your face.”

“When you do it like this, yeah. Did you do it?”

“Draco did.”

“He’s good.”

“Yeah.”

She rinsed off the washcloth and started again.

“Jesus. Your head probably weighs twice as much as usual with all this junk on it. How is your neck even supporting it?”

Harry giggled.

She grabbed a bottle from the shelf and poured some of the liquid on the cloth. “Close your eyes.”

He felt the cloth against his eyes. The texture felt rough and a bit painful, but he decided it was better than the feel of eyeliner. Ginny was silent. When he opened his eyes, she set the cloth down and crossed her arms, looking at the floor.

“I was just worried.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, then hesitated. “Want to watch a movie?”

Harry smiled. “Sure.”

* * *

Ginny sighed. “Please?” She said finally. “It’s been so long.”

It had been. He started biting his nail, then stopped when he remembered how much Ginny hated it. “Okay.”

She looked surprised. “Really?”

He moved to the couch and laid down beside her, resting his hand on her abdomen. Her breathing sped up.

“Can we kiss?”

He nodded. She reached up for him, kissing him gently at first, then sucking his bottom lip into her mouth greedily. He focused on keeping his breath even, on the feel of her palms flattening against his back, reaching down to hold his hip. Her fingers traced around to his abdomen and dipped down between his legs. He shifted so that her hand moved back to his hip.

Hoping to distract her from his body, he reached between her legs and stroked her over top of her pyjama pants. She let out a breathy moan. When she tried to reciprocate, he moved down on the couch and settled between her legs where she couldn't reach him; her hands weaved through his hair instead, her cheeks flushing.

"Can I ...?"

She was pushing down her pants before he finished his sentence, her hands guiding his head between her legs. She usually shaved her pubic hair, but it had been so long that she'd let it grow. He'd never seen it before.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting this."

"It's pretty."

She smiled, embarrassed.

He touched her gently and licked his lips. He wished he'd eaten something before this - his stomach was cramping up and his limbs felt weak, and he had a bad taste in his mouth that was making him nauseous. He used to enjoy doing this. Now the anxiety stirred. He felt her tug on his hair in anticipation and when he looked up at her she met his gaze with heavy eyelids and a half-opened mouth, the breath making her chest rise and fall like an ocean wave.

It had been so long; he tried to focus on the idea of satisfying her instead of the anxiety, but when he kissed her clit, a wave of panic made him pull back.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he lied. He sat up. “Maybe … maybe I’ll use a dam?”

She paused, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

He went to the bedroom quickly and sat on the bed - deep breathing.

_ Inhale - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - exhale - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - inhale - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - exhale - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5. _

“Harry?”

“Coming.” He reached into the drawer by the bed and sifted around, looking for a dental dam, but he couldn’t find one. They never had them - they were too expensive - so he started looking for a condom instead. He felt lucky to find a few flavoured ones - strawberry or mint. Definitely mint. It would be like brushing his teeth.

* * *

She clutched his hair and her thighs pressed against his ears, cutting out the sound. Sweet mint rested on his tongue, cooling his warm mouth. He tilted his head to take in her latex-covered clit and sucked and lapped at it while she pulled his hair with her head thrown back and a demanding moan passing through her open mouth. She pushed his face down to guide him. He tried to push his tongue inside her but he couldn’t with the latex so he licked a long stripe up her vulva instead. She pulled his hair harder.

“Put your tongue …” She arched her back to get closer to him and he flattened his tongue against her so she could thrust against his face, holding him glued between her legs. Cool mint lit up his taste buds.

“I’m gonna cum.”

That was fast. It had been awhile.

She let out a long, shaky exhale, her muscles tightening up around him and her head falling back on the couch. Her cheeks flushed to the same colour as her hair.

“Holy fuck.”

Her grip loosened and he sat up, wiping the spit off his mouth. Her eyes were still closed.

“That was incredible.”

Despite feeling nauseous from the taste of mint, her words made him proud.

“I feel incredible.”

He smiled. “Good.”

* * *

“Baby, can I talk to you about something?”

“Yeah.”

She paused the TV and turned to him hesitantly. “I feel like you’re getting pretty close to Malfoy.”

Harry shrugged. “I guess.”

“And I mean … I think it’s great that you’re making friends … I just feel like he’s probably not the best person to be making friends with, you know?”

Harry shrunk. “Oh.”

“You have to think about all the things he’s done. To me, to you …”

“Yeah.”

“He’s not a good person.”

“He seems different.”

“Well … even if he is, he’s still done way too much to ever be forgiven.”

He hugged his stomach, the taste of mint still lingering on his tongue. “Do I have to forgive him in order to be friends with him?”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “I think so.” She crossed her arms and leaned back on the couch, watching him. “And … if he drinks and does drugs then that’s another reason to stay away from him. If you’re surrounded by that, you’re going to end up doing it.”

“I guess.”

“Please just do this for me? If you want to make friends, why don’t you join that support group Frieda was talking about? Or come hang out with me and the team?”

Harry vaguely remembered Frieda mentioning a support group for war victims. “Maybe.”

“Harry, I just … I really don’t want you to relapse.”

“I’m not going to relapse.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Ginny looked unconvinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the awful sad obligatory Harry/Ginny smut, it kind of just happened. I swear there will be slash and it will be fun.
> 
> Please please PLEASE comment so that I know people are reading this and enjoying it and so that I will be motivated to write more. :)


	11. Pretend

Harry woke up to Ginny’s hands running through his hair.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

He groaned and playfully pushed her hand away. “What time is it?”

“Ten.” She disappeared into the kitchen. Dishes clattered. “Want something?”

“No, thanks.” He sat up slowly, a hand resting on his abdomen. He needed to eat, but he’d wait until Ginny was gone. Maybe he’d have some cereal, or try one of the meal replacements she kept in the fridge for him. Maybe a banana. Something that would get rid of the feeling that his stomach was digesting itself.

She came back with a piece of toast on a plate and sat in her usual spot on the floor, her back against the couch. She took a bite - peanut butter and marmalade.

“Practice today?”

“No, it’s Sunday. I’m going to go help George in the shop. Someone quit on him.”

“Oh, no.”

“It’s his own fault. He’s kind of a mean boss.”

The puzzle was on the coffee table again. She’d probably been working on it while he slept, listening to him talk. She didn’t seem worried, though. That was reassuring.

“Ron called. He’s going to stop by today.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “He wants to see you.”

Harry felt his heart rise. “Really?”

She looked back at him and smiled. “Why do you sound surprised? He’s your friend.”

He hesitated, suddenly suspicious. “Did you ask him to come?”

“Why would I ask him to come?”

“Oh. I don’t know.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent time with Ron alone. Even if Ginny had asked him to visit, it would still be nice to see him. “Did he say when?”

“After lunch.”

“Hermione, too?”

“No, just Ron.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Yeah.” She smiled back at him again with that look in her eyes. He tried his best to return it.

* * *

Harry showered and got dressed once Ginny left, and spent the rest of the morning forcing down half a banana. Eventually he gave up and chugged a glass of water instead. It eased the stomach pains a bit. Then he settled on the couch and turned on a kids’ show to distract him from the nerves. He tried not to watch the time, especially once it hit noon. His senses were heightened, the smallest noises drawing his attention to the door. He worked on the puzzle for awhile. Ginny had finished the sky and was halfway finished the grass. He put most of the cottage together before a knock on the door sounded.

“Come in,” he called out. He heard the door open and the clunking of shoes being taken off before Ron’s face appeared in the entrance. He turned off the movie before Ron could make fun of him.

“Hi,” he said, smiling.

“Hey,” Ron replied dully, looking away too quickly as he took off his coat.

Harry felt his nerves act up.

Ron collapsed on the couch heavily, staring at the coffee table. “Puzzles.”

“Yeah.”

“Ginny’s so obsessed with them.”

“I know.”

Ron drummed his knees restlessly, looking around, everywhere but at Harry. His presence felt strangely large in the room, taking up more space than Harry remembered. It made him want to shrink, but he tried to stay positive.

“Do you … want to play chess?” He asked hopefully.

Ron looked uncomfortable. “I can’t stay long.”

“Oh.” Harry felt his heart sink, disappointed.

Ron turned towards him, finally making eye contact, and the blank look in his eyes made Harry’s stomach drop. “I wanted to talk about the other night.”

“Oh.” Regret - anger at himself for not thinking about this visit logically.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” Annoyance was in his voice now, something Harry had grown too familiar with. Why had he gotten his own hopes up?

Harry shifted. “After … after the game?”

“Yeah.”

“Well … I … I just …”

“What?”

He looked at his hands. “Got carried away.”

Harry couldn’t see his expression, but he sensed that he was unimpressed. “Right.”

“I didn’t do it.” Harry tried, voice quiet.

“I thought you were staying away from all that crap.”

“I was.” He let the guilt sit in his stomach. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Ron let out an exasperated sigh and Harry felt the couch shake as he stood up to look out the window. A lump grew in his throat but he swallowed it quickly.

“Ron, I’m sorry …”

“Don’t.” Ron turned around and glared at him, crossing his arms. The look on his face was so filled with anger and exhaustion that Harry barely recognized him. “I need you to know … if you relapse … we’re not going to go through that again. I’m not going to let Ginny stick around and watch you kill yourself.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

“I would call choking on your own vomit and ending up in intensive care killing yourself. Maybe you weren’t trying to, but … Harry, none of us are going to stick around to watch you die. It’s not fair to us.”

Harry nodded, feeling the lump in his throat grow stubborn. He looked at the floor.

“That’s all I wanted you to know. Last time you got sober, I told you it was your last chance. I meant it.”

“I’m not … I’m not relapsing, Ron.’

“That’s what you said the last three times. First it was ‘I’m not addicted.’ Then it was ‘I’m not relapsing.’ Four times I’ve heard that one now.”

“Well, I mean it this time.” His words came out angrier than he meant.

“I don’t believe you anymore.”

Harry stayed quiet, afraid if he spoke the tears would show up in his voice.

Ron seemed to sense it. “I’m sorry, I have to be honest.”

His gaze fell to his arms, which had wrapped around his stomach at some point, like they were holding his emotions inside of him.

“I wanted to talk to you about this yesterday in the pub, but you left.”

“I …” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

Ron scoffed. “You were hungover.”

“I wasn’t …”

“Ginny was really upset.”

“I know.”

“Hermione was really upset.”

“I know.” His voice broke.

“I’m obviously really upset.”

The tears showed up in his eyes too quickly for him to stop them. Embarrassed, he forced them back and took a deep breath, trying to regain control.

Ron’s voice didn’t change. “I know I’m being mean but we’re all so sick of this.”

Harry stood up and headed for the bathroom before Ron could see the wave of tears fall down his face. It was rare that he couldn’t stop them. He hated when that happened. It took so long for them to stop on their own.

“Seriously, mate?” Ron was calling after him, frustrated.

He steadied his voice as much as he could. “I just need a second.”

“Harry, come on.”

He closed the door to the bathroom and sat on the floor, letting the tears flow out, feeling like a leaky faucet. It was such a strange feeling when he cried like this. The tears kept coming but the emotions dimmed to a faded memory, as if they’d never existed at all.

When Harry returned to the living room, Ron had already left. He curled up on the couch and went to sleep, preferring the nightmares to the current rush of returned feelings.

* * *

Ginny woke him up again. She was becoming like an alarm clock.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hi.”

“How was your day?”

She took off her coat and hung it up, walking with a bounce in her step. He assumed Ron hadn’t told her what had happened.

“Good,” he lied.

“Did you and Ron have a nice time?”

“Yeah. He couldn’t stay too long.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I slept all day.”

“That’s good.”

“How’s George?”

“He’s George.”

“Right.”

She smiled at him as she walked into the kitchen.  He closed his eyes and went back to sleep before she came back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commenting really does make me write faster. :)


	12. Cease To Exist

The bed called to him in the morning and the temptation to run to it was too strong to resist. Ginny was already gone. She must’ve left early or she would’ve woken him up. The puzzle wasn’t even on the coffee table.

He collapsed on the bed, wrapped himself in the thick blankets, and closed his eyes tightly. He breathed in the smell of Ginny’s shampoo on the pillow and thoughts of her swarmed his cloudy mind. Memories of Hogwarts, the love he’d felt when she looked at him after the war, the way she’d squeeze his hand when they’d walk down the street together, the unfamiliar comfort that had come with resting his head on her shoulder.

He flipped the pillow over and breathed in the laundry detergent instead. His mind went blank and he slept.

* * *

He could feel the hunger gnawing at his insides, like he’d swallowed a parasite that lived off of his internal tissues, like he’d grown a conscious being inside him that was desperately trying to claw its way out. Shivers of weakness spread through his heavy limbs, like his muscles were crying for sustenance. Images of food kept popping into his mind.

He thought about getting up to eat, but the anxiety stirred in his stomach and suddenly he couldn’t tell if he was starving or just scared. In the past four years, he’d stopped being able to tell the difference between hunger and panic. The symptoms were too similar, though logically he knew he needed to eat. He’d forced down half a banana yesterday but that was all. The thought of it made him even more anxious. Surely his body wouldn’t let him starve? Surely he would reach a point where he’d be so hungry that his body couldn’t ignore it anymore, and the anxiety would just have to shut off for a few minutes while he binged on leftovers and chocolate frogs? It had happened before. He just had to wait it out now.

* * *

“Baby?”

Harry groaned. He felt Ginny’s hand on his arm, shaking him gently.

“Are you okay?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Ginny wrapped her arms around him, little spoon. She stroked his hair gently, her hand lingering on his forehead momentarily. “Are you sick?”

He grunted, annoyed. He felt Ginny’s head rest on the pillow behind him, her breath on his neck. She lay there for a long time. When she finally left, he felt his shoulders relax in relief.

* * *

“Harry?”

He heard a man’s soft voice and felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. He groaned quietly, collapsing more into the bed, hoping he was imagining it so he could go back to sleep.

“Harry, wake up, my boy.” 

He reluctantly opened his eyes. Mr. Weasley was sitting beside him on the bed, a smile on his face but a look of concern in his eyes.

“Hi,” he said weakly.

“Alright?”

He closed his eyes again, trying to will himself back to sleep so that he wouldn’t have to answer. Mr. Weasley was rubbing his back now and saying something Harry didn’t feel like comprehending.

“Harry, can you hear me?”

He grunted.

“Can you stand up?”

“No.” His voice was whiny like a child but he didn’t have the energy to change it.

He heard whispering. Someone else was here. “Gin?”

“I’m here.”

He felt her hand running through his hair and suddenly he felt confused. He opened his eyes and rolled over slowly, squinting in the light. “What’s happening?” The words came out slurred.

“We have to take you in.” Ginny sounded like she’d been crying.

“Why?”

“Harry, you won’t get out of bed. It’s been two days.”

Mr. Weasley helped him up into a sitting position, holding him steady. “Think you can walk to the car?”

“Car?”

“I don’t want to risk apparating you there.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You need a healer.”

“No,” he tried to lay back down, but Mr. Weasley held him up.

“Can you carry him?”

Another male voice answered, and he felt another set of arms wrapping around him and lifting him off the bed. He groaned and tried to fight them off; he was met with a chorus of voices trying to soothe him.

“It’s okay, Harry.” He felt his glasses being put on his face and George finally came into focus as he carried him out of the bedroom to the porch.

“Is he high?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not high.” The sleep fog was slowly leaving his brain and things started clicking into place. “Disoriented.”

“What?”

“He said he’s not high, he’s disoriented.”

“He’s starving.”

“I can tell. He feels like he weighs about eighty pounds.”

George was sitting him down in the front seat of Mr. Weasley’s car. “Can you do up your seatbelt?”

Harry buckled his seatbelt weakly. “What’s happening?”

“We’re bringing you to St. Mungo’s.”

“Why?”

“So they can pump you full of calories before your organs start shutting down.”

“Oh.”

He heard Ginny and George settle in the backseat. Ginny sniffled. A wave of guilt washed over Harry.

“What day is it?” He asked. The clock on the radio read just after five.

“It’s Tuesday.”

“Oh.”

Ginny passed him her water bottle. He took it gratefully and sipped it slowly, his dry mouth thankful but his sensitive stomach lurching dangerously at the invasion. His body felt both too heavy and too light, like his weakened muscles couldn’t support it but gravity couldn’t hold it down either, like he was about to float away. He felt Ginny draping a blanket around his shoulders. The weight was comforting.

“Put your seatbelt on, Ginny.”

Mr. Weasley pulled out of the driveway. Harry could see George comforting Ginny in the side mirror. He deepened his breath and held his gaze out the window, counting the houses as they went by and trying not to focus on the overwhelming silence inside the car.

* * *

“When did the healer say you could leave?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Can you apparate?”

“No.”

“Okay. Text me in the morning and I’ll let Dad know when he can pick you up.”

“Thanks.”

Ginny left with her family, and Harry pretended not to notice the coldness in the way she moved, like the concern had grown so weary that it had frozen into an ice cube, locked up somewhere in the back of her mind for the next time.

The first time he’d ended up here after the war was from a Death Eater attack. The second time was alcohol poisoning. The third time, an overdose. The healers had to call in a specialist who knew about muggle drugs, which seemed to exacerbate the situation. Each time, he’d woken up to a swarm of people - the Weasleys, members of the Ministry, friends from Hogwarts, a table full of flowers and candy - more support than he knew what to do with. It had helped the healing process, to an extent. But none of them really seemed to understand. They all wanted him to get back to ‘normal,’ as if the hard, shut-off, terror-drenched man he’d been during the war was desirable. He’d returned to the quiet, passive, isolated child he’d been before magic. In other words, he _was_ normal. That was the problem.

The empty hospital room glared at him like a dark painting in an art exhibit, the kind created to make onlookers uncomfortable. Stark white walls, sharp silver vials, scratchy hospital robes, the orange haze of the sunset lighting it all up like a bonfire. Healing potions bubbled in his stomach and through his veins. Unwanted thoughts raced through his cloudy mind. Tears apathetically slid down his pale cheeks.

* * *

He awoke early in the morning. The usual rush of anxiety gripped him and he propped himself up with another pillow to ease the stomach pains that came along with it. As he did this, he realized something had woken him up - a knock on the door.

“Come in?” He called out, unsure if he was just hearing things.

The door opened. Draco’s blonde head peaked through it; the blue fringe had surprisingly been replaced with pink. It brought out a softness in his eyes that made Harry’s stomach relax in relief.

“Well, hello!” Draco said. He stepped inside carrying a bouquet of purple flowers. The sweet smell warmed the room quickly - they must have been charmed.

“Hi,” Harry smiled.

“So, I didn’t realize just how serious you were when you said you couldn’t eat.”

“It … got a little worse.”

“I noticed.” Draco took the cellophane off the flowers and set them in a vase by Harry’s bed. He handed Harry a card.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to.”

Harry felt himself smile again. The card had a pirate on it, and when he touched it, it spoke. “Arr, ye better get well, Matey!”

Draco laughed at it. “I mean, how could I not? It’s so perfect.”

Harry set it up on his bedside table beside the flowers while Draco took a seat beside him. “How did you know I was here?”

“It’s in _The Prophet._ ”

Harry’s stomach sank. “Oh no.”

“It’s just a small thing. It said something about dragon pox but I guessed otherwise.”

“Oh. Good.”

Draco adjusted the flowers in the vase and looked around the room. He looked a bit confused, but seemed to decide not to bring it up. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He felt much stronger than yesterday, and pleasantly hydrated.

“That’s good. You look great.”

“Thanks. I like the pink.” He beckoned to his hair.

Draco touched it and giggled. “Tia did it this morning. It was supposed to be red!”

Harry laughed.

“But I think I’m happier with this result.”

“I always thought you’d prefer green. Red is Gryffindor.”

“You’re right! Good thing it’s pink, then. Damn Gryffindors.”

“Hey!”

“You’re one of the good ones.”

Harry felt himself blushing - an odd reaction. He changed the subject. “What are you doing today?”

“Nothing! I’m working tonight - there’s a drag show at The Nook. I should probably do laundry. It’s been four years and I still haven’t figured out how to keep up with laundry.”

“That’s because it’s impossible.”

“Think so?” Draco exaggerated his shoulders lifting. “I’m doing just fine, then, aren’t I?”

Harry nodded. He felt his nerves acting up. He didn’t want to come across as desperate but he wanted company. “Could you … do you have time to stay for awhile?”

Draco nodded. Harry tried to ignore how his eyes turned sad.

“Would … do you want to play chess? They have a games room down the hall.”

“Sure!” Draco’s excitement sent a feeling of warmth through Harry’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your lovely comments have been so heartwarming and helpful - thank you! <3 I feel greedy asking for more but I am the comment monster! (*nom nom nom*)


	13. Biscuits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the hiatus. :( I'll try to write more frequently. :) This chapter is quite long, so maybe that will make up for it, somewhat?

Harry hung up his jacket a little too aggressively. He’d slept poorly and woken up grouchy. He hoped Mr. Weasley hadn’t misinterpreted his exhaustion as annoyance, but he’d been uncharacteristically silent on the drive home. Harry had been expecting a lecture - maybe the “I know you’ve been having a hard time” speech, or the “I know you’ve lost a lot of people you love” speech, or even the “I know my daughter can be hard to please” speech. He’d received ambiguous looks instead, looks he wanted to interpret as loving and sympathetic but could just as easily have been exhausted and annoyed. Was this his social anxiety, or was this reality? He couldn’t tell the difference. Before he left the car, Mr. Weasley had pressed a lemon drop into his hand, whispering something about him needing it, and not just for the calories. He’d appreciated the gesture but the candy felt heavy in his palm. He left it in his pocket, stilling the unwanted memories threatening to stir up.

Ginny had greeted him quickly when he walked in, and now she was talking to him from the kitchen, trying to be normal. “… next week when it comes in the post.” She paused. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah,” Harry lied, settling on the couch and covering up with a blanket. His mind was swimming with thoughts and a thick cloud had settled in front of him. Concentration felt impossible.

“For now, I picked you up some more meal replacements, and those calorie tablets you can dissolve in water. Sound good?”

“Sorry, what’s coming in the post?”

“Calorie potions. You just need to take a few sips of them and it’ll at least keep you out of the hospital. Weren’t you listening to the doctor yesterday?”

“Erm … kind of.”

She reappeared in the living room to hand him a meal replacement. The bottle was orange and cold - flavoured like pumpkin juice. He held it, hoping she wasn’t expecting him to drink it in front of her.

“I’m going to make sure you drink one everyday. Okay? We can do this together.”

His muscles tensed at her words. He tried to relax them before she noticed, shrugging. “I don’t know …”

“What?”

“It just … it makes me worse when I feel pressured.”

“But you have to eat or you’ll end up in the hospital again.”

He sighed and it came out annoyed. He shifted onto his back and closed his eyes, hoping they could drop the subject for now. He shouldn’t have pressed.

“Well … how about I’ll just remind you, and if you can’t drink one, that’s fine, too?”

He pulled the blanket over his head.

“Why are you so angry?”

He took a breath. “I don’t know.”

Ginny sighed now, frustrated. She’d sensed his mood when he’d walked in.

He pulled the blanket down. “I’m sorry. I’m tired.”

“Do you want to nap?”

“Yes.”

She seemed disappointed as she returned to the kitchen. “I was making muffins, but I just realized we don’t have eggs.”

“Damn.”

“I’m going to go get some.”

Harry curled up on his side and closed his eyes. He heard Ginny open the porch door and start putting on her shoes.

“Do you want me to pick up anything else? Juice or something?”

“I’m okay.”

He sensed her watching him, but he kept his eyes closed. Then he heard her footsteps approaching and felt her hand in his hair. He opened his eyes and tried to smile at her.

“I missed you.” She kissed his forehead.

He closed his eyes again without answering. He knew that probably hurt her feelings so he gathered up his energy and said in a soft voice, “I missed you, too.”

He heard her heading back to the door. “See you in a bit.”

“Yup.”

* * *

He was staring at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand move, wondering if the rhythm would help him sleep. How long had he been staring at it? About ten minutes. Ginny would be back soon. The thought made him annoyed, and the annoyance made the anxiety stir. He didn’t want to be annoyed by her. He wanted to love her.

Unwanted thoughts swarmed his brain and he let out an exasperated sigh. He felt so exhausted. The daily effort it took to fight his body, his brain, was overwhelming sometimes. It felt like there was a guitar string inside of him, stretched so tight it was razor sharp, vibrating slightly to let off a faint hum that reverberated through his body and rang in his ears. It hovered in the back of his mind, whispering to his subconscious, planting worries and sadness and fears. It made him want to -

No. That wasn’t an option.

Unwanted thoughts.

His phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. It was probably Ginny, asking him to check if they had something in the cupboard. Nuts or brown sugar or baking powder. He didn’t want to sit up. He wanted to wallow in his own irritation instead - his own exhaustion.

Then again, Ginny thought he was sleeping. Maybe it was someone else. He took a deep breath to gain some motivation, and forced himself off the couch. He had to check a couple pockets before he found his phone. It was in the same pocket as the lemon drop.

Draco had texted him.

_How are you feeling?_

Harry felt a butterfly in his stomach, something that reminded him of Hogwarts - talking to Cho. Ginny in the beginning. Another odd reaction.

He texted back: _Irritable. :(_

_:( Want to come over and rant?_

He hesitated. He’d promised Ginny he wouldn’t spend time with Draco anymore. He hadn’t planned on telling her he’d visited him in the hospital. But the thought made him annoyed again. He hated hiding things from her, and he especially hated when she created situations where he felt he had to hide things from her. And why did she think she could choose his friends?

_Okay. :)_

Draco sent an upside down smiley face. It made Harry smile.

* * *

It was like a balloon - the way his chest expanded underneath his button-up shirt, slowly and intentionally, practised. He leaned his head back against the couch, platinum strands falling back from his face, the pink streak grazing the top of his eyes, and the smoke left his body through his nose like the steam through Aunt Petunia’s kettle. He smiled - a flash of white teeth that looked so different from years ago when they’d been bared at him threateningly. His smile lacked any evidence it had ever been narrowed to a taunting smirk, his eyes any anger or aggression or disdain. He looked open. He looked free.

Harry spoke without thinking. “What happened to you?”

Draco paused for a long time, contemplating. He turned to Harry and the unfamiliar honesty on his face made him want to cry. “I got out.”

Harry felt his face fall into that miserable expression again. The one that made everyone worry. He felt Draco putting the hose in his hand. It was sheesha. Draco said it didn’t count as a drug. Harry had heard of it but thought it was a muggle thing. He didn’t care enough to ask how Draco had come across it - he was just glad there was something here he could smoke guiltlessly.

He felt Draco’s gaze on him as he inhaled. It tasted like lemon; he tried to suppress the association.

“What happened to you?” Draco asked.

Harry let the smoke out in a cloud. He watched it float up and disperse into the air. “That.”

“What?”

“The smoke.”

Draco was silent.

“Everything kind of just faded away.”

“Everything?”

“I just …” He handed the hose back to Draco, who set it back on the hookah. His gaze settled on his hands. They were getting dry from the cool weather, with little white cracks appearing around his knuckles. Underneath them, he could feel his stomach. A new layer of fat was settled on top courtesy of St. Mungo’s. It was thin, but enough to make him notice. Enough to make him feel comforted.

“I’m not going to judge you.”

Harry met Draco’s gaze with a searching look. His eyes reminded him of Hermione’s in the pub and it gave him a feeling of deja vu. Harry looked back at his hands.

“When I was a kid, I used to pretend my parents were still alive. I’d just imagine they were _there._ Sitting beside me while I was eating lunch. Holding my hand while I was walking to school. Giving me hugs when I felt lonely. I think it was what I needed … sort of basic things, I guess, but I wasn’t getting it at home.”

“From your Aunt and Uncle?”

“They hated me.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“No, it is. They were … awful.”

Harry saw Draco’s shoulders fall in the corner of his eyes, like the knowledge had made him shrink.

“And then I was getting it. After I found out I was a wizard. Suddenly I had friends and … parental figures. But also all the pressure.”

“I honestly can’t even imagine.”

“It’s a really specific situation, isn’t it?” He hesitated. “It felt surreal. It felt like I was playing a part in a movie. And it was good at first, but then … awful things kept happening. And I think I dealt with it. Mostly just suppressing it all and … I was just so angry.”

“I can relate to that.”

Harry nodded. “Scared and angry kids.”

“Scared and angry kids with wands.”

“Yeah … and going home every summer, after the awful things happened, and having no one there for me …”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“Dumbledore knew. The Weasleys knew. I still don’t really understand why no one did anything.”

“Dumbledore knew?” Harry tried not to overthink how unsurprised Draco sounded.

“I … I don’t really want to talk about the war. I’ve done that so much already with my counsellor. It doesn’t even feel like my own memories anymore.”

“What about after the war?”

“After the war … well … I thought I had strong coping mechanisms but … eventually, it’s just not enough anymore. You have to find … other things.”

“Right. Hence why you’re not supposed to be drinking.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Everyone has been so patient. Especially Ginny. Actually, I feel like the one thing that hasn’t faded away is Ginny. I feel like she appeared out of nowhere during the war and she’s stuck around since then. I have no clue why. It’s so strange. It’s like … Ron and Hermione had each other. And everyone else was dead. And I just … ricocheted off them to her. Not to say that I don’t love her …”

“But?”

He crossed his arms. “It never made sense.”

“Why not?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. “Maybe it made sense in a superficial way. It’s what Dumbledore would have wanted. It was a way of coping - kind of moving on, making a family, you know?”

“It sounds like you don’t want that anymore.”

He felt the anxiety stirring in his stomach and he stayed silent. “I don’t know what I want.”

“I had the problem of thinking I wanted what other people wanted for me.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.” He thought about the past few years, about his years in Hogwarts. “I can relate to that.”

Draco was silent again. “Go on.”

“I guess … I just feel like I’m watching myself fall into this hole. I don’t want to end up some overworked ministry dud who comes home to his housewife and three kids everyday. But it feels like that’s where I’m heading. I just keeping jumping between that and drugs, like there’s no other choice. It’s like …” He trailed off.

“What?” Draco urged.

“I don’t know.”

“No, tell me.” His voice was gentle. Harry felt his body leaning towards him more, reaching for the comfort.

He took a breath. “In the forest. Voldemort tried to kill me, but he couldn’t. Again. And sometimes I feel like … it was a mistake? Like I was supposed to die that day, but somehow I defied the laws of nature and managed to escape my destiny. And now I’m living this weird pseudo-life I was never supposed to have.”

The anxiety was bubbling up in his stomach, the lump in his throat forming again. Those words had been sitting jumbled in his head for years but had never left his mouth. He’d been too afraid of facing them.

“That sounds like survivor’s guilt.”

He’d heard that phrase before, from his counsellor. He hated the way it sounded. It was dismissive, as if his guilt, his regret, was unnatural. As if it wasn’t supposed to be there. As if a healthy person wouldn’t have it. “Maybe.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I think that a lot of people died for me and I have every reason to feel guilty about that.”

Draco nodded. “I mean, you shouldn’t feel guilty for feeling guilty.”

“Yeah.”

He hesitated, blonde eyebrows furrowing. “I’m not helping am I?”

Harry let out his breath. He rested his head on the couch, his limbs pressed against his torso. If he wrapped himself up in a little ball, maybe he could hold onto the anxiety. Control it. Suppress it.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been through a lot of therapy. I’m probably just regurgitating what I learned there.”

Harry smiled.

“But it’s not for everybody.”

“Therapy?”

“Yeah.”

Harry picked a fuzz of the couch and flicked it onto the ground. He ran his fingers along the fabric, feeling the ribbed texture. Grounding. “It’s one of my conditions. Ginny and Ron and everyone had an intervention. I have to stay away from drugs and alcohol, and go to my counsellor regularly.”

“Do you find it helps?”

Harry sighed and shifted. The anxiety felt like a pint of oil in his stomach, seeping up into his throat, leaking into his lungs. The image made him want to vomit. The discomfort made him want to curl up on the floor and cry.

“I’m sensing that’s a ‘no.’”

“I just feel like … I feel like a little kid. I feel like everyone keeps telling me what to do. Go to therapy, live with Ginny, join this support group, do this routine every fucking day.”

Draco nodded. “Like you have no control?”

“Like I have no autonomy over my own recovery.”

“Well, that can’t help.”

“No.” Harry’s voice shook. He wrapped his arms around his stomach again, feeling his heartbeat reverberating through his body and trying not to let his brain misinterpret it as dangerous. “I feel like it’s made me lose all my assertiveness.”

“Yeah.”

Memories of Hogwarts rushed back to him. Emotions. The anger, the determination, the constant overwhelming fear lingering in the back of his mind, always threatening to take him over, like he was hovering on the edge of a knife. Like he was being held down by a weak tether, a rubber band stretched too tight, ready to snap at any moment. Worst were the tears. His tear ducts had turned into wells, filled up almost to the top, but without a pail. Instead, the water just stayed put, wanting to come out but without any exit. Like a half-empty water bottle tipped on it’s side, not quite full enough to spill. Like a frozen waterfall, perpetually stuck in it’s downward flow, but never hitting the river underneath it.

Times like these, he wished his tears were still stalled. He could feel them building up behind his eyes and he feared that this would be a replay of what happened with Ron.

Draco seemed to sense it. “Alright?”

Harry stayed still, steadying his breath.

“What are you thinking?” Draco’s voice was even gentler than before. In Hogwarts, Harry wouldn’t have thought he had the capacity to talk so softly. There was something about that thought that made some of the tension leave his muscles.

“I just really want to be better. But I don’t know how. That’s what they don’t understand. Ginny and Ron and Hermione. Because there’s just so much. The war is one thing, and before the war is another. And no one … seems to want to acknowledge that. I’d be fucked up even without the war. You know?”

Draco stayed silent. Harry felt his hand touch his shoulder. It was so big, or his shoulder was so small. It reminded him of Sirius. As soon as that came to his mind, he couldn’t stop the tears. They hit him like a cement wall, and suddenly tears were pouring down his face and his breath was coming in choked gasps.

“I don’t know what to do, Draco. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Come here.” Draco pulled him into his arms. Harry’s face pressed against his chest, the tears soaking into his t-shirt.

“Everything has fallen apart.”

“I know.”

“I’m just this burden on everyone. They all hate me now.”

“Nobody hates you, Harry. If they’re angry, it’s because they love you and they hate seeing you this way.”

“It’s like they just want me to pretend I’m fine. I’m sick of doing that. I can’t.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“I’m just so fucking sad.”

“I know, Harry.”

“I’m so sad.”

“You have every right to be.”

He fell silent and sobbed into Draco’s chest, soaking in the feeling of his hands rubbing up and down on his back. After what felt like hours, when the tears finally stopped, he stayed wrapped in his arms. And for the first time in years, he felt a little bit better.

* * *

“I would like to … weave an infinity boner to see into the future.”

Draco set down a card. “And I would like to ‘nope’ that.”

Harry glared at him. “Fine. Then I would like to shuffle the deck.”

Draco set down another card. “Nope.”

Harry gave him a disbelieving look. “Fine! Then I would like to skip my turn!”

Draco set down another card. “Nope!”

“I can’t believe you!”

Draco laughed.

“I am so offended right now!”

Draco fell back against the couch, laughing.

Harry let out a groan. “Fine!” He picked up a deck. “Oh. Great. And it’s an exploding kitten. Are you happy?”

Draco gasped. “I won?”

“Yes, you won, you son of a bitch!”

Draco fell on his back, laughing.

“Don’t act surprised!”

“I am!”

“Yeah, right. You probably cheated.”

“How do you cheat at this?”

“I don’t know, you tell me!”

The door to the dressing room opened just as Harry was throwing down his cards in anger. He crossed his arms and pretended to pout.

Tia peaked her head in the room, and a big smile spread across her face when she saw Harry. “Look who it is!”

“Hi, Tia!”

“Why do you look so upset?” She noticed the cards and she stopped in her tracks, giving Draco a look. “Exploding Kittens? Really?”

“What? I love this game!”

“That game makes you lose friends.”

“We’re still friends! Right, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. “I’ll say yes, but only if you promise to let me win next time.”

Draco laughed. It was a deep, belly laugh. The kind that filled up a room. The contagious kind. Harry hoped he’d never get used to it.

“Anyway, Draco, remember last night, when you made me start craving peanut butter biscuits?”

“Yes.”

“I made some.” She lifted up a tray she’d been carrying. It was full of fresh-looking biscuits, and the smell filling the room implied they’d just come out of the oven. “And now I’m here to share them with you.”

Draco’s eyes widened exaggeratedly. He jumped up and grabbed one, taking a big bite. “Mmm, yum.”

“Have as many as you like!” Tia set the tray on the coffee table beside Harry, picking one up to eat herself. “Of course they’re yummy, I made them.”

“You’d make such a good housewife, Tia.”

“Theoretically, yes.”

Harry grabbed a cookie and took a bite. Peanut butter was his favourite. Draco was watching him strangely as he ate it. Harry gave him a confused look, then froze, looking down at the half-eaten cookie in his hand. He hadn’t even noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, please comment. :) <3


	14. Cracks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for my awful updating. I had writer's block and poor mental health.

Harry woke up to a knock on the door. He was tangled in his blanket and almost fell off the couch trying to sit up. Ginny had left a meal replacement for him on the table. It was the first thing he saw.

Another knock. “Coming,” he called out. He ran to the bedroom to put on some pants and a sweater. He was finding the new layer of fat on his body kept him surprisingly warmer than he was used to.

He opened the door. Ron was standing there, hands in his pockets. He looked embarrassed, or sad, or both.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Harry wasn’t sure how to react. He felt a stir of nerves in his stomach, worried butterflies fluttering up his chest.

“Can I come in?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him. Ron slipped off his shoes awkwardly and moved casually into the living room. He sat on the chair after noticing the blanket and pillow on the couch.

“Ginny kick you out of the bed or something?”

“What?”

He nodded at the couch.

“Oh. No, I just sleep better there.”

“Right.”

Harry sat down in the far corner of the couch, distancing himself. Ron crossed his arms and leaned back, looking out the window. Auror training had made him gain a lot of muscle, and it made him look intimidating. He looked nothing like the tall, scrawny friend Harry remembered from Hogwarts. He looked like a grown-up - something Harry doubted about himself.

“Look …” Ron leaned forward, arms on his knees, and suddenly he looked vulnerable. “I’m sorry I didn’t go see you in the hospital.”

Harry looked away. “Oh.”

“And that I made Hermione promise she wouldn’t go.”

“Erm … you what?”

“I thought you were there because you relapsed. But George told me you weren’t high. He said you were just really depressed and weren’t eating.”

“Oh.”

“I feel like I might be to blame for that. So … I’m sorry. Okay?” He’d started out vulnerable, but now Harry was wondering if Hermione had made him come over.

“It’s okay.”

Ron paused. Harry felt his eyes on him, but he didn’t look up. He didn’t want to risk eye contact. Then he heard Ron sigh and felt his muscles relax a bit in a defeated way. “I really am, Harry.” His voice was gentle. “I just … I feel like I don’t even know you anymore, and I don’t know how to act around you.”

“I’m the same person.”

“You’re not, though. You’re different.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not.” He looked at him now, and he saw a sadness in Ron’s eyes. Something he’d seen just after the war - something he hadn’t seen for years. Something that was such a break from the coldness that he almost felt like he’d cry again.

“Maybe it’s me who’s different, then.”

Harry shrugged sadly. “You’ve … moved on.”

“What?”

“You’re okay. You moved on.”

“Barely.”

Harry stayed silent.

“Do you think we’ve all moved on? Is that what you think? That you’re the only one struggling?”

Harry shifted, uncomfortable.

“You’re right. You are the same person, aren’t you?”

Harry stilled and glared at him, but Ron’s face was still gentle. Almost loving.

“Harry. I lost a brother. You don’t just move on from that.”

Harry swallowed.

“And I get it. You lost a lot of people. I get that you don’t move on from that, either.” Ron leaned back in the chair, looking out the window again, eyes troubled. “But I feel like you won’t let us help you. We’re all trying to heal together, but you’re so distant. You won’t let us in.”

“You just …”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No. Don’t shut down on me now. Tell me.”

Harry sighed. “You don’t understand.”

“Make me understand.”

Harry shook his head, steadying his breath.

Ron sighed. He sounded like he was about to press, but stopped when he noticed Harry’s tension. They stayed silent for a long time. Finally, Ron spoke again, and his voice was genuine. “Harry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you cry. I really am.”

Harry nodded. He said quietly, “Thank you.”

Harry stared at the floor. When the lump in his throat had settled and he felt a bit braver, he looked up again. “Do you … will you play chess with me?”

Ron seemed surprised. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

* * *

Ginny came home early. When she saw him curled up on the couch, her face fell into a cold, apathetic glare. Then she spotted Ron on the floor, staring intently at the chess board, and her face relaxed a bit.

“Hi Ron.”

Ron jumped, startled. “Oh! Ginny!”

“Taking the chess game a bit too seriously again, I see.”

“Harry’s got better. He’s beaten me twice!”

“Hmm.” Ginny brushed Ron’s shoulder as she walked by, looking pointedly at the untouched meal replacement on the coffee table. From the kitchen, she called out,“How was your appointment?

“What appointment?”

She poked her head into the living room and raised an eyebrow. “You’re counselling appointment. Wasn’t it yesterday?”

Harry opened the calendar on his phone. “Shit.”

“You didn’t go?”

“I completely forgot about it.”

She moved in front of the couch and crossed her arms. “Then where were you?”

Ron moved a chess piece without much thought and nudged Harry. “Your turn.” He saw Ginny’s face turning red and wanted to change the subject. Harry turned his attention to that, praying Ginny would drop it, for now.

“Were you with Ron?”

“What?”

Her voice rose. “Were you with Ron.”

He felt himself tensing and his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “No.”

“Then where were you?”

Harry didn’t respond.

“Where?”

He shrugged. “Out.” He felt proud of himself for a split second before the air in the room grew dark and thick. Ginny had that effect.

“You were with Malfoy, weren’t you?”

Ron looked skeptical. “Draco Malfoy?”

Harry sighed.

“Again? What, are you friends with the enemy all of a sudden?”

“He’s not - he’s different. We were just …”

“Drinking? Smoking?” She paused. “Shagging? What?”

Harry glared at her. “Talking. Is that okay with you, Ginny, or are you suddenly in control of who I’m allowed to talk to?”

Her mouth dropped open in shock. He felt Ron tense on the other side of the chess board, holding his breath. Was everyone afraid of Ginny?

“I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to hang out with him.” Her face was as red as her hair. “It’s Draco Malfoy. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation about Draco Malfoy.”

“Well, I needed someone to talk to and he was there.”

Harry caught Ron giving him a sympathetic look. Just past that, Harry swore he saw a shadow of guilt.

“I was here. Why couldn’t you talk to me?”

Harry felt anger bubble in his stomach. “You’re mad at me for talking to someone else instead of you?”

“I’m mad at you for talking to Draco Malfoy instead of me. I’m mad at you for missing your counselling appointment.” Her eyes darted to the meal replacement. “I’m mad at you for not even trying to eat. Apparently you like hospitals better that your home.”

Harry hesitated, steadying his voice. “I have been trying. It’s hard.”

“You’ve been trying?” She picked up the bottle from the coffee table. “Then why is this sitting here? Why is the counselling not helping? Why do you keep getting worse?” Her voice broke on the last word. Her eyes were wide and her shoulders tense like she was about to run away.

Harry didn't respond. He shook his head in annoyance and stared at the chess board, avoiding looking at Ron, hoping she’d storm off so Ron would leave and he could be alone.

“Drink the fucking meal replacement!” She threw it at him. He dodged it and it landed on the pillow beside him. Harry gaped at her in disbelief.

Her eyes were brimming with fiery tears. Then she grabbed the bottle from the couch, tore off the lid, and pushed it in Harry’s face.

“Drink it!” She screamed.

Some of it poured onto Harry’s face, dripping down his cheek, sinking past his lips into his mouth. The unwanted flavour of pumpkin juice exploded across his tastebuds and set off the panic like a chain bomb. Then Ginny was gone and he was frantically wiping his face off, spluttering and using deep breaths to stop himself from gagging.

Ron appeared beside him. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t reply, just dropped his hands to his lap and focused on not crying.

Ron’s hands were on his shoulders, lifting him up and guiding him to the door. “Put on your shoes.”

Harry did as he was told. He could hear Ginny saying something loudly but the panic was still ringing in his ears. Ron was arguing with her. When Harry had finished tying his boots, he looked up. Ron was puffed up like an angry bird with a finger pointed at his sister.

“You’re an asshole.”

He dragged Harry out the door with him.


End file.
